Second Chances
by WvonB
Summary: What if one unforeseeable event changes everything? A tale of what might have been.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Recently, there have been a lot of excellent, intriguing stories that start with a canon event, but then take a decidedly different path._

 _This is a story along those lines._

 _A tale of "What If"._

 _What if events had taken a radically different course very early on?_

 _Don't own Chuck et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter One: Dying**

She stares hungrily at the door.

Her path to freedom.

If she can only hang on for another minute.

But it's tortuous. Agonizing.

Time has actually seemed to stop.

Then the inevitable happens.

The minute hand moves.

She logs off her computer and rises from her desk, absent-mindedly brushing the crumbs from her black skirt as she comes to her feet. She looks down, sees the small stain on her blouse.

 _I should really stop eating at my desk._

She laughs at herself, scornfully.

 _I've said the same thing at least a hundred times this year._

As she turns to retrieve her suit jacket hanging from the back of her chair, the familiar pain in her leg momentarily flares up.

 _I should run more often. That seems to help._

Again, she laughs at herself, bitterness now mixed in with scorn.

 _And just how many times have I told myself_ that _?_

She slides open her desk drawer, pulls out her purse and her sidearm, its familiar weight a comfort to her.

 _It never let me down. Unlike the people I once depended upon._

 _And myself._

She jams the S&W forcefully into her purse, snaps closed the flap.

 _It's the weekend and there's that nice bottle of white wine cooling in my fridge. Time to go home._

She corrects herself.

 _Home? That's a joke. Time to return to where I stay._

Settling the purse on her shoulder, she walks toward her office door. But just as she nears it, the door swings open, almost hitting her in the face.

Her young office assistant, seeing what she almost did, blushes, stammers out an apology, "I'm…I'm sorry, Agent Walker."

Sarah growls, "Next time, knock."

The woman takes a step back. "Yes, Agent Walker."

When she says nothing else, Sarah impatiently asks, "What do you want? I'm off until Monday."

The young woman appears to gather her thoughts. "Oh! The Director wants to see you."

"When?"

"When?" She thinks for a moment. "Now? Yes, that's right. Now."

For a moment hope flares up in Sarah's chest.

 _Maybe Graham finally has a miss—_

She stops the ingrained mental response.

 _Get hold of yourself, Sarah. Graham's been gone for over a year._

Sarah realizes she's been silently staring for a few seconds, making her rather incompetent OA very uneasy. Obviously, they'd scrapped the bottom of the barrel when they'd assigned this… person to her.

Just another sign of her current standing in the eyes of her bosses.

"Thank you. You can go home now. I'll see you on Monday."

Looking relieved, the woman mumbles her thanks and, gathering her things, flees from the outer office, leaving Sarah standing contemplatively alone.

She's puzzled. There's no love lost between her and the current Director. Ever since her accident, but especially since the demise of the previous director, it's clear the CIA has no idea what to do with Agent Sarah Walker.

And she understands their dilemma.

How _do_ you handle a person who was known by so many in the American intelligence community as Langston Graham's personal enforcer? A sanctioned assassin who'd been personally groomed by a man who, in his death, and in the revelations that followed his demise, became an embarrassment to that same community?

Times had changed. The new administration was trying to portray the CIA, at least on the surface, as a kinder, gentler organization. There was no place for a throw-back like Sarah Walker.

Firing her would appear vindictive (and possibly illegal), so they'd shunted her off into a meaningless job—assistant to the Assistant Director of Logistical Appropriation—hoping the problem would just go away. That she would just do her time and then be presented with a nice plaque before being dumped unceremoniously out into the world.

They'd even offered her a deal where she could retire with full benefits after fifteen years instead of the usual twenty. Counting from when she was seventeen (which they'd finally confirmed as her recruitment age after a careful search of Graham's previously hidden files), it meant she had three more years to go.

She had no idea if she had the strength to hold on that long. Some days she felt like she might literally die of boredom long before then.

But what options did she have? She'd been what she'd been her entire adult life. And the last two years had not exactly instilled any degree of self-confidence.

Once or twice, she'd even imagined sitting across from a potential employer as the person read over her resumé.

" _It says here that you were an assassin for the CIA. Am I reading that right?"_

" _Yes."_

" _And that you're good at disguising who you really are?'_

" _Yes."_

" _And lying, you're good at that as well?"_

" _Yes."_

 _The woman shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Walker, but that's not the kind of person we're looking for here at Denny's."_

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Sarah buttons up her suit jacket, making sure it covers the stain on her blouse. Then, closing the door behind her, she starts her long journey. As befits her reduced stature, Sarah's office is about as far away as possible from the Director's while still being in the same building. It'll take at least ten minutes to get there, thus giving her time to think back to the night it'd all gone wrong.

So, so wrong.

…

" _I have a new assignment for you—something stateside."_

 _Sarah looks down at the photo in the file Graham had just pushed her way. The man in it is a little goofy looking with his curly hair and odd smile, but there's something about his eyes…_

" _You think you can handle this one?"_

" _Yes, Sir. I'm sure I can."_

 _She can't help but think that this will be a piece of cake compared to hiding the baby from Graham and everyone else in the CIA._

" _What did he do?"_

" _We're not sure he did anything. Bryce sent some…data his way before he died."_

 _Graham pauses, but Sarah manages to keep her expression neutral, even though she's hurting badly inside._

 _She manages to avoid cursing Bryce out loud…barely._

 _Her boss goes on, "He may be innocent, but we need you to either retrieve the data or make sure no else can get their hands on it._

" _How do you want me to handle it?"_

" _Whatever means necessary, Agent Walker. I trust your judgement."_

 _Sarah knows that she's just been given Carte Blanche, even to the point of eliminating the man whose file she currently holds in her hands._

" _I understand, Director. I'll leave first thing in the morning."_

" _Good, Agent Walker. Please go over the file before you leave."_

" _Understood, Sir. I'll contact you tomorrow."_

" _Very good. Dismissed."_

 _As she drives to her small D.C. apartment, after having read the file, she wonders what kind of information Bryce could have passed on to Bartowski, his former college roommate. And why?_

 _And why had the bastard betrayed her? How could he have hung her out to dry after they'd been…what? She wasn't exactly sure._

 _Colleagues with benefits? Certainly not lovers in the sense she understood the word._

 _How can you be in love with someone to whom fidelity and commitment were totally foreign concepts?_

 _The road home is sparsely occupied this late at night, so she may have been excused for driving on autopilot, her mind full with Budapest, the baby, Bryce and now this Bartowski guy._

 _But, in the end, it may not have made any difference if she'd been fully attentive or not. After all, who could've anticipated that a_ responsible _parent would choose that night to give a brand new Lamborghini to an_ irresponsible _eighteen-year-old boy, especially one who was trying his best to impress his brand new girlfriend?_

 _It's only her quick reactions that save Sarah from certain death. In the fraction of a second she's given, she knows she can't avoid being hit by the yellow supercar running the red light, but if she can just gain a couple of feet she'll at least avoid being t-boned._

 _Not that she has time to consciously think of that._

 _She stomps on the accelerator._

 _The Gallardo hits the rear quarter panel instead of her door. Nonetheless, the energy being carried by the car traveling at least a hundred miles per hour is sufficient to spin her vehicle, violently slamming the Driver's side into a lamppost._

 _Despite the cushioning provided by the airbags, she loses consciousness as the femur of her left leg basically shatters._

 _The Lambo goes airborne, flipping tail-over-head before smashing into a concrete barrier and disintegrating, instantly killing both occupants._

…

As the elevator takes her from the basement up to the Director's floor, Sarah remembers the pain, the disorientation she'd experienced upon waking up in the hospital.

In the immediate aftermath of the accident, no one had come to visit her. In truth, it hadn't really surprised her. Who was there?

Bryce was gone. Her father was who knows where. Of course, she couldn't receive visits from the mother she'd worked so hard to keep concealed. And apparently Carina was on a long-term undercover mission somewhere.

The only acknowledgement of what had happened had come in the form of a secure text she'd found on her phone upon awakening.

 _Sorry to hear you've been injured. We'll see you when you've recovered. I've assigned Agent Forrest to take your place on the mission we discussed. Graham._

That was it. Clearly, she'd been dismissed by him as being of no use in her damaged condition.

That hadn't been the only part of the message that had disturbed her. While she had only a passing acquaintance with Forrest, Sarah knew her reputation as a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of agent. Mentally, she'd wished her good luck on the Bartowski mission, but, thinking back on the file she'd read last night, she hadn't believed that Forrest was the best fit for a man of his disposition and personality.

Still, it hadn't been her responsibility. Besides, she had her own problems to deal with, ones that had pushed Bartowski out of her mind.

She'd endured the numerous surgeries, the long rehabilitation procedure completely on her own, seemingly friendless. _Almost._ She was only saved from that ignominy by a four-day visit from Carina.

It had been an awkward few days. Carina's discomfort at seeing her best friend in reduced circumstances, glaringly obvious. Although neither had ever said the words, there was a tacit understanding between them that, if it had to happen, being injured, even dying, while on a mission would be looked upon as something honorable, even admirable.

But not this being brought low by random chance, of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was difficult to accept for both of them. Seeing Sarah walking around, leaning on the cane she'd had to use, even six months after the accident, have proved more than Carina could bear.

When she'd come to Sarah one morning, telling her that she'd just been given a new assignment and had to leave earlier than planned, Sarah had politely taken her at face value, even though she was quite certain Carina wasn't being completely truthful.

Even though they had texted and phoned each other from time to time, that'd been the last time she'd seen her friend.

She pushes that from her mind, trying to concentrate on the here and now. Except for one short visit with Graham's replacement, she'd never been called to the Director's office. She tries to keep her burgeoning excitement under control, but maybe now, two years after that night, Sarah is finally being offered a way out of her current stagnation. Honestly, at this point, she almost wouldn't care if they fired her. But hopefully they've got something for her to do, something meaningful, away from Langley and all her bitter memories.

After being ushered into the office, the Director politely requests for her to sit.

"Agent Walker, it's good to see you on your feet again, so to speak. You no longer need the cane?"

"No, Sir. Haven't for some time now."

He glances at one of the files on his desktop.

"That's good. I see the doctors have declared you fit for light duty."

Sarah bites off the retort that they'd said that almost a year ago.

"Yes, Sir. I feel fine."

He nods. "That's good, because we have an assignment for you."

Her heart starts pounding, but she manages to keep her expression neutral.

She nods. "I'm ready."

He glances at another file, then looks her way.

"Agent Walker, I assume you're familiar with Project Omaha?"

She'd run across the name a couple times while performing her duties, but had never heard any scuttlebutt, let alone any official information about the project.

"No, Sir."

Sarah can he see he's taken aback. "That's surprising. I'd have thought that Graham would've filled you in on the details."

She's confused. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't understand why he would have done so."

He lets out a small sigh. "It appears I'll have to go back to the beginning." He looks at her closely, seems satisfied by what he sees. "Agent Walker, what I'm about to tell you is TS/SCI. Do you understand?"

She's mildly insulted by the implication that she might be unclear on the concept, but keeps her voice even. "Yes, Sir."

"Project Omaha was instituted in order to find a way to upload information, coded in the form of pictures, into an agent's brain, thereby making the possessor of that information a walking database, able to recall the data when needed. Data which then could be acted upon by the agent and his or her team. The computer program designed to accomplish this was known as the Intersect."

To Sarah, the concept sounds intriguing. A chance to do something meaningful. She wants to ask what her part might be, but knows better than to show her growing excitement.

She nods to show she's following. "I'm still not sure what this has to do with me."

"I'm getting there." He looks down to an open file, turns a page. "On September 24th., two years ago, you were assigned to retrieve some very important data that your ex-partner illegally sent to his former college roommate, a certain Charles Irving Bartowski. Do you remember that?"

How could she forget?

"Yes, Sir, I do. That's the night I was badly injured in a car accident. I was unable to complete the assignment."

"I know. As I'd mentioned, I was surprised that former Director Graham hadn't told what that data package actually was, considering how integral it was to the task he'd assigned you.

"You see, Agent Walker, that data was the encoded images from Intersect computer, and the only copy, given that Bryce Larkin," he pauses, a sour look on his face, "one of ours, had destroyed the original computer."

Her first impulse is to curse Graham for leaving her out in the cold on this. But it really doesn't surprise her. The man had always played his cards close the chest, only giving out the barest minimum of information.

Information is power.

"So Agent Forrest was able to recover this...Intersect and return it to its rightful place?"

The Director shakes his head. "No, there was nothing to recover. The images had inadvertently been download into Bartowski's brain and all traces of the file were destroyed.

"Completely by accident, he became the Human Intersect."

"So, you're telling me that the program actually worked."

"Yes, quite successfully." He frowns. "At first."

She waits on him.

"Have you heard anything about one of our teams, a particularly effective one based in California, unofficially known as "Team Forrest?"

Sarah thinks back, remembering a few snippets she'd heard around Langley.

"A little, Sir. The rumor mill talked about that team being instrumental in taking on Fulcrum." She pauses. "But I haven't heard much recently."

He frowns once more. "You wouldn't. Not any longer."

She waits for a further explanation but he doesn't offer one. Instead, he says, "Agent, that team was built around the Human Intersect, Charles, or as he prefers to be called, _Chuck_ Bartowski. When Agent Forrest was sent in your place, she quickly found herself butting heads with Major John Casey from the NSA."

"I've heard of him, Sir. Old school killer. Brutal, obeys orders to the letter."

"That's a fairly apt description. Or was."

Sarah's puzzled by that, but the man goes on once again without elaborating.

"Casey had been sent by the NSA to recover the same information that Forrest was after." He pauses. "He's also the man who shot and killed Bryce Larkin."

Sarah, through sheer dint of will, manages to keep her anger from showing at this fresh reminder. Fortunately, the passage of time has done much to scab over the wounds Bryce had inflicted upon her.

"After a brief time, it was discovered that Mr. Bartowski had not only personally downloaded the Intersect, but that he could use it, quite effectively, given the right circumstances. With the right stimuli, he would 'flash', his words, on a person or situation, thereby providing valuable intel which could be immediately acted upon. The night after Forrest made contact, his actions were instrumental in saving the lives of hundreds, including General Stanfield, at a conference in LA.

"Agent Forrest wanted to place Bartowski in a bunker. To keep him safe from Fulcrum, yes, but also to utilize his ability free from distractions. However, the man refused and told Forrest and Casey he wouldn't help at all if they did so. He was supported by Major Casey in his actions, who, somewhat surprisingly, recognized that Bartowski would not only refuse to function in a bunker, but would likely be unable to do so.

"So an accord was reached between Graham and General Beckman. Bartowski would return to his normal routine. Forrest and Casey would stay on to watch over the Intersect, as he came to be known, and work with him. Both agents would be given a cover and inserted into his life.

"And in the months that followed, this unorthodox team accomplished great things. They not only played a major part in the virtual destruction of Fulcrum, but also pulled off an astounding number of other intelligence coups.

"But we noticed that slowly, over time, the success rate started to drop. In her reports, Agent Forrest blamed it on the Intersect, citing his increasing uncooperativeness. On the other hand, Major Casey's view was that Bartowski was being pushed too hard.

"Eventually, matters deteriorated to the point that the man stopped flashing altogether. That's where we find ourselves today, with an Intersect that no longer functions and team that's no longer effective.

"Agent Forrest has requested an immediate transfer, which has been approved." He gives Sarah a long look. "That's where you come in Agent Walker."

"I believe I understand, Sir. You want me to take Forrest's place and see if I can rectify the situation with Mr. Bartowski."

The Director appears to be a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Agent. I see that I may have given you the wrong impression.

"We've looked into the situation very thoroughly and believe the Human Intersect program is at an end. Our efforts to create more Intersected agents have all failed, including the attempt that led to the death of Director Graham.

"No, Agent Walker, your assignment is to simply be Mr. Bartwoski's…protector, to shield him from any attempts by the remnants of Fulcrum to capture or kill him. We owe him that much for the work he's done. The job will be more of a formality than anything else, as we don't believe Fulcrum has ever identified the Intersect. Or even if they did, whether they'd have any continued interest in a man who's now lost what made him anything other than average."

Try as she might, Sarah can't help but deflate, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

It appears being banished to the basement of Langley wasn't quite far enough removed for the powers that be. Now they're sending her across the country to be a glorified baby-sitter.

Still, it's away from here. Away from her windowless office where she does nothing but push around meaningless papers all day.

And at least the weather is better in LA.

"Sir, to do my job properly, I'll need to be close to him. How am I supposed to explain my sudden appearance in his life?" A disagreeable thought abruptly strikes her. "Wait. You're not planning for me to pose as his girlfriend, are you?"

The man winces. "No, not this time."

Frustratingly, he doesn't explain himself any further.

"No, Agent Walker, you'll be going in as yourself. One of the greatest areas of contention between Bartowski and ourselves was his continued reluctance to lie to his family and friends about his involvement with us. In light of that, and that the Project is at an end, it's been agreed that your role will be an open one. You are free to tell his friends and family why you are there and the gist of what Mr. Bartowski has been doing the past two years. We trust you to use your judgement in the matter, however, not revealing anything which would compromise national security or ongoing operations."

"Will I have that in writing, Sir?"

He sighs. "Yes, Agent, you will."

She nods. "When do I leave, Director?"

"We've booked you on a private government flight at 0900 tomorrow. I'll see to it that the complete file of the team's activities is on the plane. It'll give you something to read on the way to Burbank. Please leave it on the plane after you land."

He hands her a sheet of paper. "Here are the details and the contact information for both Agent Forrest and Major Casey. They'll be expecting you tomorrow afternoon. They'll bring you up to speed."

"Yes, Sir. Will Major Casey be leaving immediately as well?"

He shakes his head. "No, General Beckman has indicated he'll stay, for a while, at least. To help with the transition."

She rises from her seat. "Thank you, Sir."

He stands as well. "Agent Walker, I understand the last two years have been very difficult for you. You'll be posted there for a year. If, at the end of that time, we ascertain there's no further danger to Mr. Bartowski, the assignment will be terminated. And if we feel you've performed it satisfactorily, your discharge with full benefits will be effective from that date."

She blinks in surprise. "Thank you, Sir."

"Good luck, Agent Walker."

As she turns to leave, the man stops her, adding, "Agent, this should be a piece of cake. Relax and get some sun. You look like you could use it."

His words, accompanied by a somewhat forced smile, disconcert her. He's never shown any personal concern for her welfare before. But then she realizes that his smile is one of relief. After all, they're finally rid of her and it's unlikely he'll ever see her again, so he clearly feels he can afford to be magnanimous this one time.

She's not certain how to respond, so just nods, mumbles her thanks and leaves the office.

There's not a single item in her own office she cares about, so walking away is not an issue. She starts toward the building exit. As she does so, Sarah idly wonders what her assistant will do when she shows up for work on Monday and doesn't find her boss.

She snorts. Hell, the woman probably won't even notice her disappearance. And who knows how long it'll be before anyone else does.

If they ever do.

 **TBC**

— **-**

 _A/N: Sad, I know. But hang on. Better times will come…eventually. Next…Burbank._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: First, a very big thanks to all who've read the first chapter of Second Chances. And an especially big thanks to all those who also took the time to review. Your response has been very gratifying, even a bit overwhelming. It seems many of you like the canonish AU of this tale._

 _It will stay glum for a while yet, but there is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Trust me._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Two: Barely Breathing**

The plane is a little shabby, not so much dirty or poorly maintained, rather showing the nicks and bruises of a life given in service to the CIA. Nearing, if Sarah had to guess, the end of its usefulness.

 _How appropriate._

...

Sarah has just seated herself when the somewhat bored looking co-pilot tells her they'd just received notice that Langley is sending along another passenger. The flight will be delayed for approximately thirty minutes.

She wonders if they're holding the plane for an agent being sent on some sort of last minute, urgent mission. Something with purpose, unlike the make-work she's been assigned. Maybe it'll be someone she knows, perhaps even worked with.

 _Hopefully not._

…

Thankfully, it turns out to be someone she's unfamiliar with. An older woman with glasses, dowdily dressed, carrying a briefcase and laptop bag. Sarah's first uncharitable thought is that the woman perfectly fits the stereotype of an accountant, likely being sent out to audit some CIA substation or such.

It seems she hasn't forgotten her father's lessons (or the CIA's, for that matter) on how to read people for, after exchanging names, the woman buries her head in the spreadsheets displayed on her laptop.

Which is just as well, as Sarah has no desire to engage in meaningless small talk (or even worse, hear about various accountancy procedures), for the five and a half hours (or maybe longer, if the plane's engines were as tired as the rest of it) it'll take to reach Burbank.

Instead, she concentrates on the information package that had been left for her.

She sees the Director has included the same background file that Graham had provided that night, but she just skims over it. Despite the trauma of the accident, she still remembers the salient points.

 _Charles Irving Bartowski. Goes by Chuck._

 _He'd be twenty-eight years old now._

 _Abandoned by his mother first, then, a few years later, by his father. Current whereabouts of parents unknown._

 _Raised by his older sister, Eleanor Faye Bartowski (She might be a married by now. There'd been a note about a boyfriend, Devon Woodcomb.) since his early teens._

 _Scholarship to Stanford, but expelled for cheating, instigated by his roommate, Bryce Freaking Larkin. (Which had told Sarah at the time that it was probably a setup. She still believes that, but has no idea out why it'd been done.)_

 _Dumped by his girlfriend, Jill Roberts, at the same time_

 _Has worked at the Burbank Buy More since returning home. Around seven years now._

 _Best friend name of Morgan Grimes. Fellow employee._

 _Avid video gamer. Comic book reader. Pop culture junkie._

She remembers how she'd mentally added boy-in-a-man loser to his description. Pushed around by life, unfairly dumped on, admittedly, but seemingly unwilling or unable to fight back.

After briefly wondering if meeting the man face-to-face will do anything to modify her opinion, she moves on, tackling the remaining bulk of the information.

But she has one last thought before mentally closing the book on Charles Bartowski.

 _God, I hope he's not going to be a whiner, crying on my shoulder about how badly life has treated him. I'll just have to make sure I keep my distance and not let myself get dragged into his pitiful life._

She'd opens the next file folder.

 _Got enough crap of my own to deal with._

...

They're still an hour from their destination when Sarah turns the last page. She stares through the scratched window, mulling over what she's just read.

Astounding.

That was the word the Director had used last night to describe the exploits of "Team Forrest", and Sarah couldn't agree more.

For the first eighteen months or so, they'd been virtually unstoppable. Arms dealers, drug kingpins, hardened spies, Fulcrum agents; all had fallen, one after the other, as a result of the team's actions. Monstrous, far reaching plots had been foiled. Untold numbers of lives had been saved.

It was a truly remarkable record. One that, while she could appreciate the magnitude of what had been accomplished, had only served to reawaken Sarah's slumbering anger.

And truth be told, one that also crystallized an incipient jealously.

 _Damn. Damn. Damn. I could've...no, should've been part of that team. It was supposed to be my assignment. Not Forrest's._

She shakes her head, the frustration she's worked so hard to contain once again threatening to boil over. The past few hours have given her a new-found, bitter appreciation of just how much the heedless actions of that young man had taken from her. She barely avoids cursing out loud, is only restrained by the presence of her fellow traveler.

 _And now all I get to be is a babysitter. Sent to watch over a burnout and close down the operation._

She drags her mind back, tries to focus on the here and now, telling herself that dwelling on what might have been will do absolutely no good.

 _OK. Concentrate. What else did you learn from the file, Sarah?_

Early on, Sarah had recognized that official reports often hid but, paradoxically enough, simultaneously revealed details about the author of such documents. On the occasions where she'd later read over some of her own after-action accounts, she'd seen in her own words just how isolated, how lonely, she'd felt while carrying out Graham's directives. How her longing for some sort of real connection was growing, starting to crowd out her hitherto fore held belief that she could do it all on her own, and, at the same time, eroding her conviction that what she was doing was good and just.

It had been a wonder to her that none of the psych team had seen what she'd seen. If they had, it's almost certain they would've pulled her from the kind of missions she specialized in.

(Later on, of course, she'd come to realize that the doctors had been well aware of what was happening to her, but Graham had simply ignored their recommendations. He wasn't about to withdraw his most potent weapon from the battlefield.)

Given this ability to read between the lines, Sarah had learned quite a bit about "Team Forrest."

First of all, even the name had told her quite a bit.

Agent Forrest had, right from the first moment, slyly, and with apparent casualness, always referred to the group by that name, staking her claim as the prime mover and shaker behind its accomplishments.

Major Casey, on the other hand, had never referred to it by such a title, had, in fact, only referred to it once as anything else but simply "the team". The only exception had occurred in the report after a mission involving the Major's former sensei, where Casey had referred to it (perhaps inadvertently, perhaps not), as "Team Bartowski."

With two years condensed into a few hundred pages, it'd been interesting to see how the tenor of the reports had diverged as time went on. Initially, Forrest and Casey had, with the exception of whether the Intersect should be placed in a bunker or not, agreed on how matters should be conducted. It was obvious they both concurred that the personal feelings of the Intersect, the burdens that it brought to his life, must, of necessity, assume second place. Clearly, national security had taken precedence.

That hadn't surprised Sarah, knowing what she did of the two agent's similar personalities.

But as time went along, Sarah could see that things had gradually started to change, at least on Casey's part. While Forrest continued to do everything by the book, the Major's reports started to show more and more concern for the Intersect's struggles. After the first six months or so, Casey had stopped referring to the man by that impersonal title, more often than not calling him Bartowski, even once or twice using Chuck instead.

The reports were even more dissimilar in how the two agents described Mr. Bartowski's contributions to the success of the team.

If one had only read Forrest's accounts, you would have come away with the impression that the positive results had come about _despite_ the Intersect's involvement, not because of it. That he was a bumbling fool, and it was, primarily, only the quick and decisive actions of Agent Forrest that that enabled them to accomplish what they had.

On the other hand, Major Casey had been, if not effusive, at least not overly stinting in his praise of Bartowski's actions. While acknowledging the man was completely untrained for the role that had been inflicted upon him, Casey had made it clear that it was acting upon the man's flashes that had led the majority of their successes. The Major had acknowledged that Bartowski's actions were often foolhardy, but, at the same time, had hinted he'd found many of those same actions had displayed a high degree of bravery.

As report succeeded report, Sarah had sensed a growing acrimony, an increasing divisiveness between the two agents. Disagreements on how operations were carried out became common. Thinly disguised little snipes at each other's respective roles and abilities started to pop up on both sides, but especially from Forrest.

Eventually, their deep-seated and obvious discord reached the point where Sarah wondered how the team had ever managed to function at all, let alone so successfully.

As the director had mentioned, the squabbling came to a head about six months ago.

Forrest had brought forward, forcefully, the bunker idea once more, pointing to the Intersect's increasingly sporadic output. She'd reasoned that this was due to being overly distracted by his family and friends and his job at the Buy More.

Casey had directly contradicted her, instead stating that Forrest had pushed too hard, making constant demands upon Bartowski's limited free time. The Major had shot back that it was _only_ his connections with his "real life" that had allowed him to function as well as he'd done. Then he'd unequivocally stated that Bartowski needed a break, not more pressure.

In the end, a compromise had been reached, and like most compromises, neither side came away completely satisfied. No bunker for the Intersect, but little respite for Bartowski, either.

That government wasn't about let a resource of such potential value lie fallow.

And Charles Irving Bartowski, the human being at the center of the bureaucratic tug-of-war had paid the physical and mental price. A month ago, he'd suffered a collapse, a breakdown of sorts. It wasn't well described in the reports, but the outcome was very clear.

The Intersect had ceased to function.

Completely, and apparently, considering all the unsuccessful efforts that had been put forth to reactivate it, permanently.

The Golden Goose had been killed by greed once again.

Forrest had laid the blame squarely on the asset, accusing him of deliberately holding back. Her undertone gave the impression that she felt it was a personal affront to her.

Casey's, "I told you so," had leapt off the page, even though it hadn't been stated in so many words.

So that's where matters stood at the moment.

A team that no longer has any basis for its continued existence.

A man who's been pushed beyond his limits and then shunted aside. Deemed as being of no further value to the powers that be.

Sarah feels a wave of empathy for the man she's never met.

And she's gained respect for him, as well. He'd stood up for himself, refused to be separated from his friends and family, despite what she imagines to have been an immense amount of pressure. And all this while trying to find his way in a world he'd been so callously and unexpectedly thrown into.

Casey had implied he was courageous. And that's saying something from an ex-Marine like the Major.

Clearly, either the initial conclusions she'd made from his file had been way off-base, or the man had risen to the challenge. Probably a bit of both.

 _People do change, Sarah._

This realization only serves to further remind her that she's not the same woman who'd been so dismissive of Charles Bartowski and the mission she'd been assigned two years ago.

It had seemed so simple. Get in. Retrieve the data. Get out.

She'd successfully accomplished similar assignments a number of times before, often while facing the threat of unrestrained violence had she been detected. And, even on occasion, dodging gunfire when things hadn't gone as smoothly as planned. Comparatively, the Bartowski mission would've been a breeze.

But that's only because she was so different back then. Disillusioned, yes. Embittered, certainly. But at the same time supremely confident in herself and her abilities.

That Sarah Walker _always_ got the job done.

 _What were the words of that old song?_

 _We'd lead the life we choose_

 _We'd fight and never lose_

 _For we were young and sure to have our way_

The accident had not only shattered her leg. It'd shattered her self-assurance as well.

And while the leg had healed, the damage to her psyche remained, in so many ways, an open, suppurating wound.

The bitterness and disillusionment remain, but the confidence has fled, leaving her unsure, hesitant. A pale imitation of whom she once was.

As the plane begins its descent, she stares out the window once more, thinking of the mission ahead of her.

It _should_ a be piece of cake. Easy-peasey. Something even an agent fresh from the Farm could handle.

She catches her reflection. Sees the doubt in her eyes.

 _Maybe they're right. Maybe this is all I'm good for._

Another line from that song comes back to her.

 _We lost our starry notions on the way._

...

Stepping off the plane's short flight of stairs, she grabs the suitcase waiting for her on the tarmac. After extending the handle, she tows it behind her as he walks toward the small building the CIA maintains as a check-in for personnel arriving in and departing from LA.

She stops at the door, hits the buzzer, then flashes her ID in front of the eye-level camera. The door clicks open and she steps through the entrance into a drab looking office, painted in some sort of sickly institutional green.

There's a perky, young brunette standing behind the counter smiling at her.

"Agent Walker, we've been expecting you. My name is Samantha."

Sarah manages to keep her expression neutral, even though the coincidence catches her off guard.

Samantha looks down at her terminal. Frowns for a moment.

"We're also expecting an Agnes Gebhardt. Is she coming as well?"

Sarah tilts her head toward the business jet parked in its spot.

"She's still on board."

When Sarah had walked past her, the woman hadn't even noticed Sarah's nod, her eyes glued to the laptop screen.

The young woman looks outside, seems a little confused. "I guess she'll be along soon."

"I expect."

Sarah pauses, expecting the young woman to get on with the business of signing her in and giving her the car she'd requested.

Sarah raises an eyebrow. Taps her foot.

Samantha finally clues in.

"Sorry, Agent Walker." She pushes a clipboard towards Sarah. She points. "Just sign here...and here...and here. And initial there," she chirps, "and we'll have you on your way."

Even after a year of pushing paper, Sarah's not quite used to this level of bureaucracy, at least not on an assignment. On the vast majority of her missions, paper trails, of any sort, had not existed. Cars, weapons, whenever she'd required them, had simply been provided to her, no questions asked, often handed off silently in some darkened alley.

She finishes the last of her paperwork. Samantha hands her the keys, a ray of the bright afternoon sun glinting off them momentarily.

"Your car's right through that door." She points over her shoulder. "It's the gray Ford Explorer." She pauses. "Were you told that we have a Porsche? It's usually used for deep cover missions, but it's available right now."

"Yes."

"That's the one I would've chosen. It's pretty sweet." A dreamy look crosses Samantha's face. "Sometimes, I imagine I'm an agent driving it on a mission, tearing down the coast highway, leaving the bad guys in my dust."

Seeing Sarah's stone faced response, the young woman catches herself, looks a little embarrassed.

"Sorry, Agent Walker. I guess stuff like that would be old hat for you."

 _Yes, except that, usually, I was the one chasing, not being chased._

She says nothing out loud.

Clearly unsure how to deal with the taciturn woman standing in front of her, Samantha is saved by the bell, or more precisely, the buzzer. It seems the accountant is ready to check in.

Relieved, she blurts out, "Thank you, Agent Walker. I'll buzz you out the back. Hope you have a good mission. Bye."

...

After depositing her suitcase in the back, Sarah slams the hatch shut with a little more force than necessary.

It's warm, so after opening the door, she slips off her brown leather coat and tosses it, along with her purse, onto the passenger seat. She sits, then latches the seatbelt.

She reaches up to adjust the rear view mirror, but stops as she sees her reflection. The scene with Samantha has irritated and unsettled her.

 _Was I ever that young, that foolish? Willing to open up to perfect stranger like that?_

Sarah searches her mind, honestly unable to answer her own question. It seems to her that, even as a child, she'd always been old, serious. Careful to hoard her private thoughts or dreams. Hugging them to herself on those sleepless nights.

Except when it was part of her cover. Then she could chat away, seemingly a sharer. But of course, she gave away nothing real, just the history she'd been provided with or the things she made up on the spot in order to get close to her mark.

 _Samantha. When's the last time someone called me that?_

Again, she's unable to come up with a firm answer.

 _Maybe my mom, when I was eight?_

Her father has always told her she had to live the person she was pretending to be. Whether she was Katie or Rebecca, or any one of a dozen other people, she was to answer to that name. He'd test her from time to time, blurting out her name-de-jour to gauge her response, making sure that it was natural, spontaneous.

When he wasn't doing that, he'd addressed her by the unspecific "Darlin'", to the point, that to this day, Sarah is unsure if he even remembered who she really was or simply chose to ignore what had been.

She shakes her head, then starts the car. Putting it in reverse, her eyes are drawn to the screen displaying the image from the backup camera. She sees, parked thirty feet behind her, the black Porsche she'd worked so hard to avoid looking at.

She hits the brakes.

She'd loved her car.

Everything else, her apartment, her clothes, her weapons, had either been provided for her or purchased on her expense account.

In a sense, all of it belonged to the CIA.

But the Porsche she'd bought from her own funds. Not that she could've afforded a brand new one, even though most of her wages went into the bank.

No, Carina had put her on to a DEA auction. The car had belonged to a notorious cartel leader that Carina had helped bring down.

When Carina had told her about the 911, Sarah had, at first, scoffed, replying she didn't need anything so pretentious. She was quite content with the ubiquitous sedan provided by the Company. After all, she was hardly ever in D.C. in any case, so why tie up her funds with such an extravagance?

Undeterred, Carina had insisted that Sarah accompany her to the auction to be held in Florida, actually on the former grounds of the now-imprisoned drug lord.

When Sarah had seen the car, she'd immediately fallen for it. She'd wondered if the feeling was anything like the love at first sight thing she'd read about in books when she was younger.

Carina had seen her reaction, kidded her about it. Sarah had blushed, changed the subject, protesting that it would surely go for much more than she was willing to spend.

Carina had winked and told her not to worry, that she'd taken care of it.

Sarah was never exactly sure what Carina had done, but judging by the looks that had passed between her friend and the auctioneer, she'd had a pretty good idea.

In the end, she paid much less than the car's worth, a figure that, while it had stretched her budget, hadn't broken it.

The drive back to D.C. had been unexpectedly glorious.

Carina had gone, off on another mission somewhere, so she'd had the car, and time, to herself. Five whole days before she had to report in. The longest break between missions in recent memory.

She could've traveled the thousand miles on the I-95 had she chosen to, been back in D.C. in much less than a day. But she hadn't, instead, taking the road less traveled, zig-zagging back and forth, actually stopping and looking at places and sights that caught her fancy.

She'd dawdled over coffee each morning. Something she couldn't remember having ever done before.

She'd stopped in small towns, asked the locals where she could get a good cheeseburger. The men, old and young, seemed to be quite willing to pass on their recommendations at length.

One afternoon she'd found herself in an Auburn University campus coffee shop, overhearing a conversation between two young students and their bespectacled, bewhiskered professor. He'd expounded on Wittgenstein and the limits of language. She'd been fascinated, even though she'd only picked up about half of it.

She'd drifted from there towards the coast, taking her time before eventually winding up in Savannah, which she'd liked very much.

That wasn't to say she hadn't pushed the car at least a few times each day, laughing joyously as she felt the wind tear at her hair.

She'd even found herself singing along with the radio without consciously realizing it. But even after she'd caught herself, she hadn't stopped.

Finally, for maybe the first time in her life, she'd had something that was _hers_ , a place (albeit a cramped, mobile one) that she could call her own. One that allowed her to go where she wanted, when she wanted. To control her own direction. At least for those brief times that she could call her own.

Graham hadn't been happy with his Enforcer's symbol of independence, especially one she'd insisted it was to be kept free from tracking or surveillance devices. However, apparently sensing her intransigence on the subject, he'd wisely not pressed the matter.

But now, of course, the broken, bent corpse of her Porsche is sitting in some scrap yard, assuming it hasn't already been crushed and melted down.

The insurance settlement had been generous. She'd been given much more than she'd paid, more than enough to find a good used replacement.

She'd never done so. For the first year after the accident, she'd focused on her recovery, wondering if, despite the best efforts of her surgeons and physical therapists, she'd ever get back to the level of mobility she'd previously enjoyed.

Then when she _had_ recovered, she'd returned to find her mentor gone, her stock with the Company at its lowest ebb.

A virtual pariah.

Sarah Walker had been dealt a sharp, salutary lesson.

 _You can't go back again._

After that, she'd let the idea of buying another 911 languish, had accepted the dreary, gray government-issue sedan for her dreary, gray government life.

She gives herself a shake, tries to dispel the memories she's worked so hard to eradicate.

 _One year, just hold on for another 365 days._

She pulls her eyes away from the screen, finishes backing up, and then, putting the Explorer in drive, exits the parking lot, leaving Samantha and the Porsche behind her.

 _Time to go and talk with Bartowski's handlers._

 **TBC**

— _A/N: Still a bit of a downer, I know. Next chapter we'll meet Chuck's handlers, who may not be quite the way we remember them from Canon._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: We meet Major John Casey. Not quite the canon one, though._

 _One step closer to the meeting we're waiting for._

 _Thanks to michaelfmx for his incisive and encouraging beta services._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Three: Feeling(?) Something?**

After she exits the airport, Sarah pulls over into a Starbuck's parking lot and takes out her phone. Pulling up her contact list, she mulls over the choice of which agent to approach first.

Even before she read the team's file, she'd immediately dismissed the idea of meeting the two agents at the same time, knowing that neither partner would likely speak freely with the other present. But now, knowing much more about their rocky inter-personal dynamics, she realizes to do so would be like bringing gasoline near an open flame.

Sarah shakes her head. _No desire to get caught in the middle of that war-of-words._

Looking at the names again, she makes her choice. She sends a text.

Less than a minute later, she gets a reply.

 _OK. Echo Park it is._

She inputs the destination into the Explorer's GPS.

As she drives down North Hollywood Boulevard, something begins to stir within her. Something she'd once felt in what almost seems like a log forgotten previous life.

 _The tattered remnants of my pride?_

Even as she chides herself over the flowery prose, she thinks it's been so long that she's not sure.

But there is a growing determination.

 _If this is gonna be it, I might as well do it right._

…

Walking through the arched gateway, Sarah is immediately struck by the tranquil beauty of the building's courtyard and the residences that surround it. She stops for a moment to take it all in.

Lots of greenery. A burbling fountain in the middle. Little nooks and crannies with small patio table and chair sets.

 _I would like to live here. It feels like…a home._

The sudden thought, unbidden, catches her by surprise.

Home, for the better part of her younger years, had been, at best, a fluid, nebulous concept.

More often than not, she and her father had stayed in run-down motels in less than attractive parts of the towns and cities they'd traveled through, usually only for a few days before moving on to the next swindle. From time to time, when they were flush, they'd been able to afford nicer places, but had never stayed for more than a few days at a stretch, barely enough time to get to know what all the light switches did.

However, there'd been one time, just after she'd turned twelve, when they'd stayed in a nice furnished apartment, part of their cover for a longer than average con.

On that occasion, she'd done what she could to personalize her bedroom. Her father had misread her actions, had told her not to bother, that none of their marks would ever see what she was doing. Therefore, there was no need to put on the pretense that it was a real place, an actual home. She hadn't been able to find the words to explain (even to herself) exactly why she was doing it, so had just nodded. But she'd kept on, adding some books, a few pictures, posters, little things she'd scrounged up, a response to a longing she couldn't clearly define.

She'd found an abandoned kitten during one of her wanderings, the little mewling thing stuck in a box in some freezing back alley. She'd been very careful to hide it from her father, feeding it and holding it only when he wasn't around, which was often. Fortunately, the tiny creature was quiet, his meows almost inaudible, even at night when everything was quiet. He'd sleep snuggled up against her chest, his gentle purrs sending an unaccustomed thrill through her as she laid there, very careful not to roll over and hurt him.

In the end, the con had gone wrong, disastrously so. They'd had to flee in the middle of the night, with barely more than the clothes on their backs, leaving behind the pitifully meagre personal possessions she'd accumulated.

Her father had caught her just as she'd managed to coax the kitten, frightened by the tense atmosphere in the apartment, out from under her bed.

He'd told her they couldn't take it with them. When he said he'd take of things so the animal wouldn't suffer, she'd openly defied him for the first time in her life, furious at the callous implication of his words. She'd stood between him and the innocent, her fists balled at her sides, silently daring him to try and get by her. He'd relented, had almost seemed a little frightened of her. He'd walked away, telling her, over his shoulder, to hurry.

But, in the end, she did leave the kitten behind, knowing, with an understanding beyond her years, that there was really no place for it in their nomadic lives. She'd left food, water and, in a stolen moment, a hastily scribbled note under the door of the kindly old George, the building caretaker, asking him to please take care of the helpless animal.

Later that morning, two hundred miles down the road, she'd managed to find a few spare minutes while her father was in the cafe washroom. Just time enough to get to a payphone and call George. She'd asked if he'd found the note when he'd awoken. When he'd said he had and solemnly promised to do what she'd asked, she'd fought hard, but had failed to blink back her tears. When he tried to ask where she was and if she was OK, she'd hung up.

After that, defeated, disheartened, she'd given up on the idea of a place to call her own, and just went along for the ride, literally and figuratively. Even during their time in San Diego, her room had remained generic. Free from the stamp of personality. And free of pets.

Her furnished apartment in D.C., provided by the CIA, was the same. Except for few photos (now long gone) of Bryce and herself, she hadn't done a single thing to change it from the way it was on the day she walked in.

She didn't actually _live_ there.

She existed.

Sarah envies Major Casey, living in a place like this. But then she wonders if he too simply exists here. Maybe his place will be generic as well, a standard Mark One bachelor's apartment as defined in the manual for undercover assignments.

She'll find out soon enough. Turning, she walks to his door, knocks briskly.

He'd told her in his text that Bartowski's sister and her husband (she'd guessed right on that one), were both on duty at the hospital, so she wouldn't have to worry about running into them unexpectedly. Which was just as well. She's already laid out in her mind the plans for that first meeting.

There's movement from within the apartment, but there's a delay, time enough for the Major to check the image from the almost invisible security camera mounted in the doorframe. The door opens abruptly, a faint odor of cigar wafting her way. The man filling the doorway is big, solid, barrel-chested, well over six feet tall.

She's never met Major John Casey before, only recognizes his unsmiling face from his unsmiling file photo. However, she does know of his formidable reputation, in some aspects, the NSA's equivalent of her own, or, more correctly, her _former_ reputation.

 _Not that it was always something to be proud of._

The two silently size each other up for a few seconds.

He nods. "Agent Walker."

She nods back. "Major Casey."

He grunts, then backs up a step, allowing her to enter. Sarah takes a few steps in, stops in the short hallway, unsure where he wants her to go. She glances at the bookcase in front of her, sees that it contains, unsurprisingly, a number of titles dealing with military themes, including Heller's Catch-22. What does surprise her, however, is God Knows by the same author. And a Sidney Sheldon novel. Not the kind of reading material she'd thought the Major would indulge in.

 _Window dressing?_

Sarah hears him close the door behind her. He brushes by her in the cramped space, leading the way further into his place.

"Let's go into the kitchen."

She follows, noticing a photo of Ronald Reagan on a side table. She sits down at the somewhat battered kitchen table, sees a Bonsai over in one corner, a few tools laid out on a cloth in front of it.

"Coffee?"

She nods.

"Black OK?"

"Yes, thank you."

He sets down a substantial mug in front of her, sits down across the table from her, his own in his large hands. No cups and saucers for John Casey.

He regards her for a long moment. Takes a sip of his coffee.

"How's the leg?"

His inquiry catches her off guard. Of course, she should have realized he'd have checked out her file as she'd done with his.

"Fine."

He grunts. "Caught a ricochet that broke my shin bone a few years ago. Still some pain when the weather changes."

His attempt at commiseration, even though gruffly delivered, is oddly comforting.

No one has asked how she is for a very long time. She surprises herself by instinctively responding to his overtures. "Yeah, it does bother me from time to time." Then she catches herself, firmly says, "But it doesn't slow me down."

"That's good."

He pauses.

"You're here to replace Forrest." A statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Better late than never, I guess. That woman has been a pain in my ass for way too long."

Sarah hadn't been sure what to expect from him, but this level of honesty, this soon, catches her a bit off guard. While she has a pretty good idea why he feels that way, she's come here to get first-hand impressions, so asks, "How?"

"You know what she called the team?"

She nods.

"Kinda sums it up right there, doesn't it?" He shakes his head, angrily. "Agent Alexandra Forrest is a glory hound. Never could abide glory hounds. They have a tendency to get the people around them hurt…or worse."

Sarah, feeling the same, nods her agreement.

Time to get down to business.

"Major, you and I both know that this is a make-work project for me, but I want to do it as well as I can. I've been sent here to shut things down and watch over him. Openly, not undercover."

He gives her a long look, then nods.

"I've read the reports, but you know as well as I that a lot of stuff never makes into the official documents. I'd appreciate a firsthand account from each of you before I go and introduce myself to Mr. Bartowski. Consider anything you want to say as being off the record."

He grunts, "Got it, but I won't give a damn if what I say about her is put it on the record."

Thinking back to his candid reports, she's not surprised by his declaration.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"How about the circumstances behind your first meeting with him. I know the bare bones, but I'd like your impressions, your feelings."

He appears uncomfortable, but, after a few seconds grudgingly replies, "OK."

He pauses, seemingly to gather his thoughts. "After I shot Larkin—"

She flinches, just a tiny bit, but he notices.

"Sorry." He sounds genuine.

After another moment, he continues, "After, we were able to determine that the recipient of the stolen files was Charles Irving Bartowski, residing in Echo Park, LA.

"I caught the first flight for the coast, but, even so, Forrest arrived at the Buy More at the same time I did, both of us looking to track him down. Neither of us wanted the other to get to him first, so we contacted our superiors. In the spirit of inter-agency co-operation," he practically spits out the phrase, "we were instructed to play nice and work closely together in reacquiring the data from what they then told us was called the Intersect.

"At the time, we thought the data would either be in his computer or transferred onto a portable device of some sort.

"We decided that I would break into his apartment that evening and grab his computer and backup drive. His sister and her boyfriend both had late shifts at the hospital. Forrest would keep Bartowski occupied in the meantime."

She raises an inquiring eyebrow. "Oh?"

"No, not like that. She turned on the charm, conned him into taking her out for dinner and after, to a club. She was supposed to pry out anything he knew about Larkin and the Intersect. And find out if he had the files on him."

"Isn't she a little old for him?"

"Yeah, she is. But when I watched her approach at the Buy More, I could tell it really didn't matter. It turned out Bartowski hadn't had a date for years and Forrest knew all the right buttons to push. I don't think the kid stood much of chance."

Sarah hears what seems to be a subtle note of affection creeping into Casey's voice, but doesn't comment.

"While they were out, I grabbed his computer and his backup drive without incident, then took them to the nerds at the local NSA sub-station. The backup drive had crashed. No trace the file had ever been on it. Then they informed me that the hard drive in the computer was a complete write-off. Not just overwritten, but physically destroyed. They talked about how the platters in the drive had actually melted from some sort of power surge. End result was they wouldn't ever recover any useful data from it.

"I texted Forrest. Told her it was a no-go on my end. She texted back that she hadn't gotten anything from him yet, and that we needed to go with Plan B. I would approach them at the club they were going to be at and pretend to pursue the two of them, hopefully scare him into telling her what was going on.

"To make a long story short, I chased them up to the top of a local office tower. We played a warped little version of Mexican stand-off, with a weapon always pointed his way. But aside from terrifying the kid, we were no further ahead. I was just beginning to think he really didn't know anything, when he caught sight of a hotel a few blocks away.

"He blurted out that a Serbian terrorist he'd seen earlier in the day was about to blow up General Stanfield who was speaking at a security conference. When he told us he figured out what was happening because the NSA had intercepted blueprints for that hotel and the CIA had found some schematics for a bomb in Prague, we knew we were on to something. No way he should've known any of that intel or connected it. Then he babbled on about remembering stuff he shouldn't know, how there were all these pictures in his mind from an email Larkin had sent him."

"Neither Forrest or myself had been told this kind of thing was possible, but we were able to put two and two together.

"Bartowski didn't _have_ the Intersect. He _was_ the Intersect."

He pauses. As she tries to visualize the scene, Sarah can't help but feel that the man isn't usually this much of a talker.

"Major, I don't need the details of how you defused the bomb, but I would like to hear about the aftermath, how the two of you came to decide how you were going to handle things moving forward."

His expression sours. "We argued. Forrest was determined to throw him into a psych tank, let him bounce off the rubber walls for the next ten years while we extracted the intel from him."

"You felt differently?"

He nods. "Strongly."

"Why?"

"On the way to the hotel, we gave him the chance to stay away from the bomb. Hell, I threw him to the ground and told him to stay put."

Sarah doesn't recall reading that tidbit in the official report, but again, doesn't comment, just listens as the Major goes on.

"But he got up and ran _toward_ the danger. It was easy to see the whole idea scared the crap out of him, but it didn't stop him." He pauses. "Seen that before, men and women putting aside their own safety to try and save their buddies, or even perfect strangers.

"Anyone who'd do that shouldn't be thrown into a bunker as a reward for their courage."

 _Bravo, Major._

She nods. "I get it, but that couldn't have been a good enough reason on its own. He was an incredibly valuable asset, after all."

He shakes his head. "Yeah, you're right. There was more. When I'd read the file on him, I'd realized just how critically important his family and friends were to him. Sister had practically raised him. Morgan had been his best friend since the first grade. I believed that isolating him from that circle would have made him unproductive."

Sarah's surprised at the astuteness of the Major's observation.

 _Maybe those books aren't just window dressing._

"We knew that if he could consistently generate the kind of intel we had seen that night, he would be a huge boon to the country's security. We needed him. In any case, he overheard us arguing about the whole bunker scenario. It took some cojones, but he stood up for himself, told us flat out that there was no way he'd co-operate if we threw him in a hole somewhere.

"Forrest wasn't happy, but even she could see the man was deadly serious. I guess she finally understood it was the only way we would get to use what he had.

"We asked him to give us a few minutes while we contacted our superiors. After, we called him over and informed him about the Intersect. And that we were going to let him live his life, but we would be inserted into it to protect and work with him.

"It was clear he didn't like the world he'd been shoved into, but he was, _is,_ the kind of guy who can't stand by and see others suffer if he can do something about it. So he agreed, but only after he extracted a promise from us that we would find a way to get that thing out of his head. ASAP."

"He believed you?"

"Yeah, we told him what he wanted to hear. He was too naive to realize there was no way they'd let him have it removed if it proved to be as valuable as first appeared. At least not until we figured out a way to replace it."

Sarah suddenly feels guilty. Ashamed.

 _Why? I didn't lie to him._

But the feelings persist.

She pushes them aside, asks, "Was that it?"

"No. He also wanted to know what roles we'd be taking on. I told him the best idea would for me to work at the Buy More where I could keep eyes on him. Forrest told him she'd find something nearby, someplace she could monitor the store.

"He thought about it for a bit, then saw the hole in the arrangement. He asked about his off time, how either of us could plausibly be around then. Things blew up when Forrest told him she'd be posing as his girlfriend.

"To put it mildly, he wasn't keen on the idea." He adds dryly, "It seems their _date_ and its aftermath had taken the bloom off the rose.

"Under the facade, Forrest's a stone-faced, heartless bitch. It hadn't taken him very long to figure that out.

"So he refused, point-blank. Last straw kinda thing. He told us that no one would believe the two of them as a couple and he wasn't about to put his emotional life on hold for some fake girlfriend in some fake relationship. But then she took him aside, talked to him for a couple of minutes. I couldn't hear what she said but when they came back, Chuck looked pale, agreed to go along with the charade."

"What did she tell him, Major?"

Casey shakes his head. "You'll have to ask her. She wouldn't tell me and if I ever got close to the subject with him, he'd veer away."

Sarah's has a pretty good idea how Forrest had gotten Chuck's cooperation, and it only serves to add to Sarah's already sizeable antagonism towards the woman in question.

 _I knew she was a bad fit for him. I'll have to deal with her later._

"Thank you, Major. I'm not going to keep you too much longer, but I would like your thoughts on how and why things eventually went wrong."

He grunts. "That's easy. One word. Forrest. She wouldn't stop pushing. Kept after the kid even when it was clear he was on the ragged edge. Exhausted. Worn out."

"Exactly how did she do that?"

"Chuck was basically working two jobs. If nothing happened in the normal course of his day to cause a flash, she'd often, under the pretense of a date, take him back to her place and bombard with images, news articles, anything she thought might trigger something. Either way, when he did flash, we'd tackle the situation ASAP, often going late into the night." He shakes his head. "It was wearing me out, damnit, and I'm trained for this sort of stuff. He wasn't."

"I understand." _Bitch is too kind of a word._

She bites off her growing anger.

"But it was more than just the missions and work. His personal life was an absolute shambles. As he'd said, no one could understand him being with Forrest. He had to lie pretty much all the time about their relationship, not just in words, but actions as well. He had to pretend he cared for her. Hold hands. Sit close. All the standard PDA crap that was expected of a couple.

He shakes his head, disgusted. "And she'd sleep over once in a while. To reinforce the cover."

She's upset, disturbed. _Why?_

"They didn't—"

"God, no! After Chuck made sure the door was locked, he'd sleep on the floor. Whenever they were in private he'd stay as far away from her as possible."

 _Why am I relieved?_

"How did you know?"

"Surveillance cameras."

"In his bedroom?" She's appalled.

He grimaces. "Graham's insistence. For his protection, he said. Beckman caved."

Giving the Major a hard look, she asks, "What were you'd doing the whole time this was going on?"

There's what sounds like a mixture of regret and shame in his voice. "I _did_ try to get her to dial it back, at least a little. But she had Graham backing her up and he carried more clout than Beckman.

"But the truth is, I didn't push. Not as much as I could've and not as soon as I should've. Fulcrum was far too dangerous. They had to be stopped. And we were doing stuff, accomplishing things I never would've thought possible. We had them on the ropes." He stares over her shoulder at nothing in particular. "So I closed my eyes. Went along with it.

"Kept telling myself it was for the greater good."

He brings his gaze back to her.

"Or I did, up to about a year ago."

"What changed your mind?"

He hesitates. "Off the record, right?"

She nods. "You have my word."

His eyes search her face, then he nods, seemingly satisfied. "OK. Last September, there was a late briefing, during which Graham and Beckman informed us that the new Intersect computer was ready to come online early the following morning. Bartowski would get his old life back and Forrest and I would be reassigned. I could see the kid was practically in tears, he was so happy. We were instructed to meet again at 0800 where Chuck's _retirement_ would be discussed in detail.

"However, it turned out that Graham's idea of retirement was a little different than Chuck's."

"What do you mean?"

"Graham had his own private briefing with Forrest back at her place."

"And just how did you come to be in possession of that information, Major?"

He looks her straight in the eye, his expression neutral. "It seemed that I'd carelessly misplaced one of the NSA's newest stealth micro-bugs. Somehow, it found its way to the into Agents Forrest's hair, where, by accident, it managed to capture the conversation between Graham and Forrest."

"Seriously?"

He shrugs his shoulder. "Truth is, it was way too easy. I was suspicious. So I 'accidentally' placed the bug on Forrest."

"And what information did it 'accidentally' convey to you, Major?"

His expression remains neutral, his voice even flatter than a moment ago. "That, as it was much too risky to have another Intersect running around, Agent Alex Forrest, at the verbal direction of CIA Director Langston Graham, was ordered to terminate the asset the next day."

For a moment, all Sarah can see is red, the anger she'd been fighting all along, finally making its way past her defenses. Her expression hardens, her voice low with menace. The Major abruptly leans back into his chair, actually slides it back a couple of inches.

"Are you trying to tell me that…that son of a bitch ordered his…execution…after all the lives he'd helped save? After all the times Chuck risked his life without recompense of any type? And all this while they took away any chance he had of leading a normal life?"

He just nods, doesn't say a word in reply.

She spits out the words. "Damnit, Casey, how the hell did Graham think he had the right? To toss him aside just because he's suddenly become redundant.

"It's unethical. Illegal. Immoral. And wrong. So freaking wrong."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Hold on there, Walker! You're preaching to the choir."

Sarah closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, tries to sublimate her rage.

 _Calm down. You don't even know Chuck Bartowski. Not really._

 _Remember, he's just an asset. You've burned them yourself. Just an asset, nothing more._

 _You know what Graham was like._

 _Then why am I still so angry?_

She opens her eyes, sees Casey looking at her curiously.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Sarah. You're letting him see too much._

She takes another deep breath, puts her agent mask back on. "OK, Major. Clearly, she didn't carry it out. Care to tell me what happened?"

He considers her for a few seconds, appears to reach a decision. "His sister and brother-in-law were on vacation, so I figured she'd take care of it in his place, most likely in the middle of the night. I've always found somewhere around 0400 to be a good time. Probably make it look like a burglary gone wrong. Knew I had to get him out of there and keep him away until I could figure out what I was gonna do. So I invited him over for a little liberation celebration. He was a little surprised. We had a rather...cautious relationship at the time. But he was in a good mood, so he accepted. I cooked up some steaks. Then I initiated him into the world of good scotch.

"After a few drinks, he started talking about the things he was going to do now that he was free. He went on about how he could finally get his degree. A good job. A good woman. Kids. Meantime, I was drinking one to his three. Just before midnight, he passed out, so I dumped him on my bed and threw a blanket over him. Then I turned off the lights, grabbed a chair and sat, facing the door, which I'd left unlocked. Threaded in my Sig's suppressor and waited."

He smiles, just a little. "Sure enough, around 0430, I heard someone try the door. There was a pause, as if the person was surprised to find it unlocked. Then it swung open, and Forrest stepped in, dressed in black. A silenced Glock in her hand."

...

" _Alright, Casey. Where is he?"_

" _Who?"_

" _Don't be an ass. The asset."_

" _You mean Chuck Bartowski?"_

" _Yes. The Intersect. What have you done with him?"_

" _Introduced Chuck to Mr. Johnny Walker. They really seemed to hit it off. However, come morning, I suspect he's going to feel he's been the victim in an abusive relationship."_

" _I told you to stop being an ass. Tell me where he is. Now"_

" _Upstairs, sleeping it off."_

" _What the hell do you think you're playing at?"_

" _I could ask you the same question."_

" _I'm obeying orders. Or trying to. And you?"_

" _Obeying my conscience."_

" _You expect me to believe you actually have one?"_

" _Yeah, it was a bit of surprise to me too. Not exactly sure where it came from."_

" _I don't know and I don't care. You gonna get out of my way?"_

" _Nope. Don't think I can do that."_

" _I'll go through you if I have to."_

" _You can try."_

" _How are you going to stop me? Shoot me?"_

" _The thought had crossed my mind."_

" _And just how the hell would you explain that?"_

" _Armed intruder? Dressed in black? Middle of the night? How was I supposed to know it wasn't a Fulcrum assassin?"_

" _They'd never believe it."_

" _Not sure I care. Just as long as I don't let you get anywhere near him with a weapon in your hand."_

" _Graham wants it done. And what Graham wants, he gets."_

" _Graham's order is illegal. You don't have to obey it."_

" _You make it sound like I have a choice in the matter."_

" _You do. Safe your weapon, and we'll sit down together and have a cup of coffee. I'll talk to Beckman and we'll come up with a better exit strategy for Chuck."_

" _Do you really think Beckman will stand up against him? For you? For the asset?"_

" _I think there's a decent chance. She's not quite as heartless as that bastard Graham."_

" _And if I decide to carry out my orders?"_

" _I'll shoot you down right here, right now."_

" _You can try."_

" _Don't kid yourself, Forrest. You're good, but I'm better. And don't think I'd make the mistake of going center mass. You're probably wearing a vest. Headshot only. Wouldn't miss from this range."_

" _If you take me down, Graham will just send someone else. I hear Walker's recovered. You know her rep. If he sends her, the Intersect's a dead man walking."_

" _Well aware. Just need a little time to sort things out. Make our bosses see reason. Besides, what kind of idiot would dispense of the only working Intersect before he even knows the replacement will function?"_

" _Not up to us to make those kinds of decisions. We just enforce them."_

" _Always have, but not this time. It's clear someone's not thinking things through."_

" _Why are you doing this, Casey? We're partners."_

" _No, we're not. Not really. Partner wouldn't work behind my back. Sneak in and murder a good man like Chuck."_

" _Good man, Major? He's just an asset. He's outlived his usefulness to us."_

" _Seems like it. Doesn't mean he deserves a bullet in that brain of his."_

" _You've gone soft."_

" _Maybe. But I prefer to think that I've finally realized what it is I've been fighting for."_

" _Which is?"_

" _To allow honest, decent people like Chuck Bartowski to live their lives."_

" _Honest? He lies all the time."_

" _Only because we made him do it. Hell, if Diogenes had met pre-us Chuck, he would've put away his lantern and gone back to his wine-cask. Mission accomplished."_

" _You're delusional. He's no better than a half-dozen other assets I've burned over the years."_

' _You believe that because you've never stopped to look at him as a person. Other than cover situations, you never refer to him by name. Always the asset or the Intersect. Your way of dehumanizing him. Once you've done that it's easy to keep your distance, dismiss him as just another game piece to be used and disposed of as necessary."_

" _Don't try to tell me you felt any different about the targets you were assigned."_

" _You're right. I didn't. But he isn't the same as them, and I'm not the same as then."_

" _So Major John Casey has had an epiphany. He's a better person now."_

" _Don't know about that. But I do know I won't let you have him."_

" _Do you actually believe that this little show you're putting on tonight will make any difference in the long run? That this pathetic display will somehow let him live some idyllic life, free from worry?"_

" _No, there'll always be worries of some sort or other. But at least he won't have to worry about someone who was supposed to his protector turning around and killing him just because he's an inconvenience."_

" _Like I said. You're delusional."_

" _Maybe I am. Doesn't change the fact that you've got a decision to make._

" _So what's it gonna be, Forrest? Sit down or fall down? Your choice."_

" _You know, I've had enough of this crap. I'm not gonna get myself shot just because Major John Casey has come down with a sudden case of lady feelings. I'm going home. Let Graham sort it out._

" _Oh, and I'd be more careful about leaving this door unlocked. Next time, it'll probably be Walker. You know, Graham's soulless killer. The machine. Don't expect she'll be one for chitchat."_

…

Sarah has to wrench herself back to the present, engrossed as she was in the Major's terse description of the tense confrontation. She can't stop her eyes from momentarily drifting to the apartment's entranceway, thinks she can almost feel the residual tension radiating from the area.

 _Soulless killer? Machine?_

She's confused. Genuinely puzzled.

 _How can people not see that each time I pulled the trigger, I killed a little part of myself as well? I'd always thought it would have been so glaringly obvious._

 _Like a spot of red ink on a white shirt._

She stops. _Maybe I'm nothing but spots? No white left._

 _It that all Forrest could see? All that Casey does see? An indelible crimson past, unfaded by the passage of time?_

He's studying her, apparently waiting for a response, a reaction of some sort.

She tries to focus on the matter at hand, somehow manages to quietly ask him, "What happened then, Major?"

"I locked the door, stood guard. Later that day, we found out Graham had been killed."

He looks at her inquisitively. "They ever tell you the actual circumstances?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No, I wasn't in the loop. We were told there'd been an accident, but that the details were classified. There were rumors of some sort of secret project, but I only got the full story recently."

"You can probably guess the kind of situation we faced in the briefing that morning. To call it chaos would be an understatement. Graham had kept most of the Project Omaha details from the Deputy Director, his pro tem replacement, so the man was out of his depth. Beckman took charge of the meeting.

"When I brought up the termination order, it was obvious that neither of them had any idea that it had been issued. Beckman was furious. The Deputy Director bewildered.

"Forrest used the opportunity to jump in and tell them that she had used her initiative, with my cooperation, of course, to postpone carrying out the order until it was clear the replacement Intersect was up and running. Both our superiors praised her for using her quick thinking to avert what would've been an intelligence fiasco."

Casey shakes his head. "I'll give her credit. The woman's an opportunist of the first order.

"She had me over a barrel. Forrest knew very well that I couldn't pipe up and tell them I'd been prepared to shoot a fellow agent in defiance of orders from the director of the CIA, so she could lie with impunity."

 _Let's add manipulator to the list, shall we._

"None of this was in the file."

"Are you surprised? None of the parties involved wanted what happened on the official record."

"You're right, of course. What happened next?"

"Graham's assassination panicked the intelligence community. How did Fulcrum manage it? Was this a resurgence or just a last gasp? No one seemed to know. The upshot was that, even though I did manage to get a guarantee that termination orders were off the table, we were ordered to push the Intersect even harder. We needed to finish off Fulcrum once and for all. And Chuck Bartowski was our best tool to accomplish that."

"I tried to reason with them. Tried to warn them that he was close to burnout. But they weren't in a mood to listen.

"They got their way and so did Forrest."

"How did he take it?"

"About as well as you could imagine. After he woke up later that morning, we explained what had happened, that he was still the only Intersect and how desperately we needed that final push. He was crushed, but I'll give him credit.

"He still stepped up to the plate. Worked hard, pretty much without complaint. In the next few months, working together, we pretty much finished Fulcrum. But it was easy to see the toll it took on him. He was flagging, badly.

"I tried to give him every opportunity to grab some rest. As often as I could, I got him out of the Buy More by making fake service call requests. Let him grab a couple of hours of sleep in the back of the van. Pushed Forrest to cut back on the 'date' nights. She did, a little, but in the end, it wasn't nearly enough.

"The flashes started to become irregular, and much more difficult to trigger. Sometimes, he had to go over data two or three times before anything happened, nothing like the immediacy of the first months. A few times he'd go for a day or two without anything whatsoever happening.

"Then, about a month ago, he collapsed. Nervous and physical exhaustion. After he basically slept for three days, we tried to get things going again, but it became clear, quite quickly, that the well was dry.

"Our bosses were happy that Fulcrum was basically finished, but I pointed out that we could've accomplished so much more if we'd managed him with more compassion and understanding. They listened politely, but I could tell they really didn't care. They shut us down. Told him they would be sending someone to watch over him and make sure he stayed safe.

"And that's why you're here, Agent Walker."

Casey gives her a hard look. "Or is it?"

She's caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I can't quite understand why someone like you would be sent out to babysit an Intersect-less Chuck Bartowski. It makes me wonder if you have a hidden agenda."

"Excuse me?"

"Seems like a waste of resources to tie an agent like yourself to a job like this. Maybe this whole 'make work' thing is just a scam. Could it be that Chuck will have a fatal 'accident' shortly after I leave? Just to make sure there's no chance that the Intersect could ever come back and haunt us?"

She slams her mug down on the table, coffee sloshing over the side, abruptly furious. She growls, "Who the hell do you think you are? Coming off as if you know me? You haven't got a freaking clue. If you did, you'd realize that I would never obey such an order. I don't knowingly hurt innocent people like Chuck. And what's more..."

Her voice trails off as she sees him smirking at her.

"What the..."

"Just needed to be sure, Sarah."

 _Sarah?_ She's bewildered. "You were testing me?"

He nods. "I needed to know where you're coming from. I know you've been in the doghouse since Graham died and pretty much figured that this assignment was their way of getting rid of you. But I couldn't be sure how _you_ viewed it

"Maybe you saw it as an opportunity to get back in their good books. For all I knew, you may have told them you'd watch him for any signs the Intersect was working again. Then you'd either tell your boss and they'd force him to start using it again, or simply take him out so he couldn't pose a threat."

"And now?"

"I'm sure you're on his side. I watched carefully when I told you about the termination order. And about the showdown with Forrest. And just now, when I accused you."

She can't decide whether she should be offended with his test or pleased she'd passed it. "So, I've convinced you I'm on the up and up? I've earned the John Casey seal of approval?"

There's a brief rumbling chuckle. "Yeah, you have." He pauses, gives her a look. "Do you know what it was that clinched it for me?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"When it came to the crunch, you called him Chuck. Not the Intersect. Not the asset. Chuck."

 _I did, didn't I? Why?_

"I had to make sure you weren't another Alex Forrest."

"Is that why you stayed around, Casey?"

"Partly. But there's another reason."

"Which is?"

"I know I'm in the minority, but I believe the Intersect isn't completely gone. I think it's in hibernation, just waiting for the right circumstances to wake it up. With the right approach and with the right team supporting him, we could do great things again."

"And you believe we could be that team?"

"Possibly. What I've seen today tells me we'd have a chance. Forrest was totally wrong for him. But you, you've shown more concern for his well-being in the last half hour than I saw from her in two years."

"I don't even know the man, Casey."

"There you're wrong. You do know him. You just haven't met him. Yet."

"And what if _you're_ wrong? If it's really over and done?"

He shrugs. "Then I'll have wasted a few months in order to be sure. No big deal. You'll have your quiet little swan song and I'll move onto something else."

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Tell you what. You go and have your meeting with Forrest. Try not to hurt her too badly. Then go and meet Chuck. He's at the Buy More until nine. See what you think of him. Then get back to me."

"He's back at work?"

"Yeah. You've read his family history, so you know how resilient the Bartowskis are. Sure, he's still tired and the Buy More's a joke, but he feels an obligation to the people he works with. You'll find out real quick that Chuck Bartowski is the only reason that place doesn't self-destruct.

"And, by the way, watch out for Ellie when you get around to laying it all out for them. She couldn't stand Forrest, which shows she has great instincts. She only put up with her because she thought it made Chuck happy. I think she'll be a mite upset when she finds out what's been going on for the last couple of years."

"Duly noted." She pauses, makes sure she has his attention. "But I expect you to be there too, Major. She'll need to hear your side of the story. Especially if you're going to be staying on."

The man's face actually pales. "You're not serious?"

"Deadly."

"Damnit. I guess you're right. I should be there. But I want a seat near the door."

"Done."

Sarah rises from her chair, holds out her hand for him to shake. He does so.

"Thank you, Major. It's all been very informative. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. I'll contact you tomorrow."

"Sound's good. You know the way to Forrest's?"

"Maison 23, 322 North Pass Avenue, Burbank. Right?"

"Yep." He smirks. "Hope you like green."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Had thought we'd get to meet Forrest this chapter as well, but things went on a little longer than I'd planned._

 _Thank you all for following along. As always reviews are appreciated. Really like to know your thoughts._

 _Next time, Alex Forrest and the Green Room. (No, not the title.)_

 _PS If you're wondering about the books (some of them at least), take a close look at the background when Casey gives the cipher to the fake courier in First Date._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: We're close. So close. But we have to deal with one more obstacle._

 _Here she comes! The Anti-Sarah!_

 _Thanks to michaelfmx, as always, for his sterling beta services._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Four: Called to Life**

The drive only takes a few minutes, but it's more than enough time to soundly berate herself for letting her mask slip.

 _I used to be good at hiding my feelings._

Sarah shakes her head. _Can't let on to Forrest how much I dislike her. Or how I feel about what Chuck's gone through._

She stops herself.

 _Which is what, exactly? Pity? Sympathy? Empathy?_

She's unsure.

And even less sure _why_ she feels it so keenly. This unaccustomed rush of emotion after such a long bout of apathetic…nothingness, is unsettling, confusing. But it's also invigorating, like the blood has started to flow to her numbed extremities once more.

Then, unbidden, the line from a bible story she'd heard the one time she'd attended Sunday school (a supporting role in one of her father's cons, of course), pops into her mind.

 _Lazarus, come forth!_

Back from the dead.

…

Green.

The color of envy.

But, unlike her experience in Echo Park, none of that emotion arises as she stands before the door of Forrest's residence. Even though she hasn't yet seen the inside, Sarah's quite certain she'll find the functional equivalent of her apartment back in D.C.

She knocks. Senses movement from within. Sees the peephole darken. But it's a long few seconds before the door swings open, the faint odor of some sort of cleaning product wafting Sarah's way.

As with Casey, she only recognizes Agent Alexandra Forrest's unsmiling face from her unsmiling file photo.

She's tall, taller even than herself, something that Sarah, already in the upper percentile of height for women, is unaccustomed to.

The two silently size each other up for a few seconds.

She nods. "Agent Walker."

Sarah nods back. "Agent Forrest."

The woman backs up, motions Sarah into the room.

Just as she'd thought, the room is a showpiece, almost as if it had been put together by a set designer. Needlessly ornate. Awful patterned silver wallpaper. And accents of green everywhere. Two green chairs by the large windows (which do have a great view). Green headboard. And so on.

It screams _cover_.

 _Nothing real to see here, folks. Move along, move along._

There's an open suitcase on the bed. Another closed, larger one standing on the floor. It seems as if the occupant is wasting no time in vacating the premises.

Sarah hears the door close behind her. Forrest brushes by her, walks over to the bed and snaps shut the suitcase. Then she turns to face Sarah.

There's no offer to sit. Nor any other indication of common politeness.

Instead, only a curt question. "You've spoken with Major Casey?"

Sarah nods.

"I imagine he's told you what he thinks of me. And what happened here."

Sarah nods again. "He _was_ forthright."

"Well, don't believe everything you hear."

"That's why I came. It would be unfair to make any judgements until I hear your side of the story."

 _Sure, Sarah, say it like you mean it._

Forrest regards her for a second or two, then shrugs her shoulders. "Yeah, alright. But let's make it quick. Got a plane to catch. I'm being sent to Paris."

Sarah's surprised. "Paris? Sounds like a plum assignment. How did you manage that after everything fell apart here?"

"Just playing the game, Walker."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't play dumb. You know as well as I do that if you don't look out for number one, no one else will. It's been that way since our first day at the Farm and it always _will_ be."

It's not a game Sarah had ever chosen to play. Not at the Farm nor at Langley. Not that Graham's agenda had ever given her much opportunity to do so, even if she'd had the desire.

 _Maybe I should've learned._

Forrest looks her up and down, then speaks, oddly echoing Sarah's thoughts. "Well, maybe you don't. Otherwise, you surely could've used some of the dirt you picked up along the way to avoid being tossed into the abyss."

Sarah, acutely uncomfortable with the direction the conversation is taking (and how much Forrest seems to know about her) testily replies, "I'm not here to talk about me."

The woman gives Sarah a hard to decipher look, then says, "OK. You want the short of the long version?"

Sarah taps her foot impatiently. "You said you were in a hurry."

"Alright. The short version then. I spoke with the Director at length yesterday. Told him again, in no uncertain terms, that, number one, it was the spinelessness of Casey and the NSA that screwed things up here."

"How, exactly?"

"The asset should've been bunkered right from the outset. If the CIA had been given free rein to control his environment, had made him focus on the Intersect and _just_ the Intersect, this operation would still be ongoing."

Sarah tries hard to hold in her astonishment, but hears some it of leak into her reply.

"You _actually_ believe that?"

Forrest appears surprised. "Why shouldn't I? It's the truth."

 _Whose truth?_

"It's what I told Casey right from the start. He should've realized that was the best course. Instead, he fought me tooth and nail, supported the asset's refusal to simply accept the reality of his situation. Against my better judgement, and in the spirit of cooperation," she spits out the last few words, "I had to go along just to keep things moving.

"But I never believed there was any good reason for him to keep on working. Wasting time and energy with his friends and family. Tagging along on missions as if we really needed him. Only thing we _needed_ from the Intersect was the intel. Should've been left up to the pros to handle the rest."

"Casey feels differently."

"I'm well aware of that, Walker. Doesn't mean he's right."

"How about when Chuck's actions saved the lives of both you and Casey? More than once I might add. If he hadn't been along, you wouldn't be here now."

Too late, Sarah realizes she's slipped up. She sees Forrest's eyes widen.

"You call him Chuck, do you? You haven't even met the man and you're already on a first name basis? Cozy."

Sarah angrily retorts, "Don't try to change the subject. Just answer the question."

Forrest waves it off, her tone of voice dismissive. "Blown completely out of proportion. We only got in trouble because of his blundering in the first place. Those situations would've never developed as they did if we'd left him behind."

Sarah feels herself start to bristle. "Come on, Forrest. You expect me to believe that? The reports, even your own, tell a different story."

The woman shrugs her shoulders. "Had to doctor those to show how nice we could play with the NSA."

Sarah can't help but shake her head, exasperated at the woman's persistent denial of the facts. She can't be sure if Forrest actually believes what she's saying or it's all part of her continuing CYA tactics. Either way, she realizes it's a waste of time to pursue this line of questioning.

"OK, let's move on. You implied there's at least one other reason why the operation got derailed."

"Ah, yes. That would be _Chuck,_ the man himself."

She smirks as she uses his name, but Sarah doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, she mentally grits her teeth and asks, "OK, that's the impression your reports gave. Could you tell me more of the details? Off the record, if you want."

The smirk persists. "Sure, Walker. Where would you like me to start?"

"It seems the two of you didn't get along. That right?"

Forrest nods. "No, we didn't. I don't mollycoddle assets. Never have, never will. They serve a purpose, _our_ purpose, and the sooner they understand that the better.

"When I laid it out for him, he wasn't happy. But I didn't, and don't, give a damn about his personal feelings. He was there to do a job and that's the bottom line. So I cut him off when he whined about how his life got ruined. I didn't want to be here any more than he did, but I pushed through it and expected him to do the same."

"But he didn't choose to be caught up in all this. He was just an innocent bystander. Even you have to acknowledge that."

"This may come as a surprise to you, Walker, but I never really believed he was nearly as innocent as he made himself out to be. I always thought he was hiding the full extent of his involvement with Larkin from us."

"You based that on, what? Actual evidence?"

"Didn't need evidence. My gut tells that no one's as nice, as guileless as they'd make you believe. The asset's no exception. When I told Graham how I felt, he concurred, reminded me that nice guys aren't sent government secrets. We decided to let it slide as long as he cooperated."

Sarah jumps in, forcefully. "Which he did exceptionally well."

"Yeah, on the surface, it may have looked like that. But despite whatever crap Casey may have told you, I always found the asset to be difficult, constantly dragging his feet when it came to his duties. Got so pissed off with him, that I let the Major take over some of the handling chores. He'd listen to him, for some reason. Just as well. I couldn't stand to be around the idiot more than I had to."

"And yet you were posing as his girlfriend, even sleeping over. With that kind of attitude, how the hell did you think that was going to work?"

"I can fake it with the best of them. Some hand-holding, a little cuddling on the couch, a few public kisses and no one was the wiser."

"And the sleepovers?"

"They were good for a laugh. I made sure his sister and her fiancé would catch glimpses of me wearing some scanty little lingerie as I slipped into his room. I'd let out a few appropriate noises, rock the bed a little. Even called out his name once or twice. They had no idea the moron was sleeping on the floor."

She snorts, derisively. "As if _I_ was going to have any trouble keeping my hands off him if we slept in the same bed.

"Next morning, I'd come out for breakfast looking disheveled and sated. Could hardly stop myself from laughing in their faces." She pauses. "By the way, I'd be careful around Devon. The man's got a wandering eye. Easy to tell he wanted what he thought his brother-in-law was getting. Probably got a thing for blondes."

Her incredulity mounting, Sarah blurts out, "You're serious?"

"Sure am. The man practically drooled. You should've seen the stink eye Ellie gave me. The woman's a world-class shrew. So afraid I'd take her man, that she barely tolerated having me around, even though I was, as far as she knew, anyway, her brother's girlfriend."

Sarah just stares, momentarily unable to form words. She's had to deal with more than her fair share of egoists (Bryce, Graham) in her life, but this woman surely takes the cake.

Forrest goes on, "At first, she acted as if she wanted to get to know me. Took me aside, gave me the old, 'What are your intentions?' schtick, as if I had to answer to her."

Sarah, finding her voice, replies, "And you said…"

"I told her that I'd fallen for him because he's so good in bed. Then added some graphic details." Forrest chuckles, mirthlessly. "That shut her up quick. She didn't ask again."

Sarah, imagining the scene, can't come up with an immediate reply.

Forrest smiles, sensing her discomfort. "Anything else you want to know?"

Giving herself a mental shake, Sarah asks, "OK, how about we move on to the first night? The date and its aftermath."

"I assume Casey told you about the directive we got to cooperate?"

"Yes."

"I decided the best plan would be for me to approach the asset and get him to go out with me while Casey would appropriate his computer and backup drives."

"How did you talk him into the date?"

"Piece of cake. You've read _his_ file, seen his photo?"

Irritated at Forrest's implication that she'd been slack in her duties, Sarah tersely replies, "Yes. Of course."

"Then you know he'd been on a dry streak for quite some time. Hardly surprising." Forrest snorts. "Didn't take much. That breathy little voice we learned back at the farm. An extra undone button. Leaning a little more forward than needed. A pretended eagerness to know him and the implied promise of even more. All the other geeks were practically salivating as they watched me work him.

"I almost laughed in his face when he accepted my repeated requests to have him show me around."

"Repeated requests?"

"He was a little slow on the uptake. Figured he thought no one would believe someone like me would go out with someone like him."

 _You've got that right. Just the wrong way around._

Sarah shrugs, noncommittally. "Perhaps. What happened next?"

"Got dressed in a short skirt, tight top. He took me out to some awful Mexican restaurant. Hated the place, but pretended I was having a good time. Sat close to him, pressed myself up against him as we talked. He seemed uncomfortable. I put it down to his lack of experience. Tried to get him a little drunk, thought it might loosen his tongue. He wouldn't have more than one Margarita, however, even though I coaxed him along.

"Wound up talking about useless crap. Never could get him to admit he knew anything about the data Bryce had sent before Casey killed him."

Sarah flinches, but Forrest doesn't notice, just keeps on talking.

"After dinner, he made noises about calling it a night, but I wouldn't have any of it. Pushed him into taking me to a dance club he'd mentioned earlier."

She pauses, gives Sarah a knowing look. "Not sure what your plans are, but you should know he's a terrible dancer. I had to do all the work."

"Why would I care?"

Forrest shrugs her shoulders. "Wasn't too long before I got a text from Casey, telling me that he hadn't found anything useful. I instructed him to go with Plan B.

"He tell you about that?"

"Yes, the fake pursuit and the scene on the rooftop."

"Then you know what I figured out about the Intersect. We defused the bomb. The asset used some sort of porn virus to stop it." She pauses. Sneers. "You should've seen him. He was shaking like a leaf. I thought he was going to be sick right then and there.

"Later, he overheard Casey and me arguing about what we should do with him. He refused to cooperate unless we took the bunker option off the table."

Her voice betrays her irritation. "I still would've made it work if Casey hadn't stuck his nose in. I think the man's gone soft in the head.

"After we promised, the moron agreed. But then he got his back up about me taking on the cover as his girlfriend. I'd just about had it with him by this point, so I grabbed his arm and took him aside. Made him understand that there weren't going to be any more negotiations."

The image of Chuck being manhandled infuriates Sarah, to such a degree that it takes all she has to keep her voice under control.

"And just how did you accomplish that?"

"Told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't go along with the charade, I'd make life miserable for his family and friends. Informed him I could arrange matters so that his sister would lose her research grants. And that her fiancé would suddenly find himself in legal trouble, given the accusations that he'd sexually assaulted a number of the nurses at a previous hospital. Hell, to amuse myself, I even tossed in that his bearded, annoying little friend, Morgan, would wind up in jail, with all the evidence indicating he'd been stealing from the Buy More for years."

Given what she knew of Forrest, Sarah had always suspected that the woman had resorted to blatant intimidation to accomplish her goals. Nonetheless, upon _actually_ hearing what she'd done, Sarah feels a red curtain of rage descend upon her.

Her hands form into fists at her sides. Tense, eyes narrowed, she subtly changes her stance.

Forrest recognizes the threat. Steps back into a defensive position. She gulps, visibly, the smirk replaced by thinly disguised fear.

When Sarah realizes what she's done, she takes a deep breath, steps back.

Not that it lessens her absolute fury. "He's thrown in the deep end, doing his goddamn best to be cooperative and you decide the best course is to bully him, threaten the people he cares about?

Sarah shakes her head in disbelief. "You never had a freaking clue, did you? Not for one second."

Forrest replies, angrily. "Get off your high horse, Walker. I did everything by the book. You would've done the same thing in my position. Don't try to tell me any different."

Sarah manages not to shout, somehow. "Don't you _dare_ presume to know what I would've done. If _you'd_ done _your_ job and bothered to _actually_ read his file, you would've known the bunker was a non-starter. And given all the times he's been abandoned and betrayed, anyone with an ounce of common sense would've seen that developing his trust would've been the way to go.

"But no, you decide to go in with guns blazing. You poisoned the relationship right from the get-go. Set the stage for the failure of this mission from that first night."

Forrest responds, belligerently, "What the hell are you talking about, Walker? We accomplished things that no one else even came close to matching! Do you think we would've beaten Fulcrum _without_ my team?"

"No, I'm not saying _the_ team didn't do great things. I'm simply convinced that they did so _despite_ you being part of it, not _because_ you were you part of it.

"Any flint-hearted bitch handy with a gun could've played your part."

Sarah sees the sudden violence in the older woman's eyes, welcomes it. Calmly watches as she steps closer, fists raised.

Sarah stands her ground, doesn't so much as flinch."Go ahead, Forrest. Take your shot. I've beaten the crap out of petty tyrants and bullies like you with one hand literally tied behind my back.

"But maybe you're thinking she's out of practice, hasn't been in the field for a couple of years. Maybe I could take her.

"Only one way to be sure. Just take one step closer."

The two women glare at each other for a few, seemingly interminable seconds. Forrest blinks first, lowers her fists and steps back.

"Too bad. I really thought this place could've used a splash of red, something to offset all this god-awful green."

"What the hell happened to you, Walker? I used to look up to you, pointed out to Casey how you were the perfect weapon. The bogeyman that struck terror into the hearts of our enemies."

She pauses.

"You know, once or twice I was sent to take someone in and they mistakenly thought I was you. I guess it was the tall blonde thing. You should've seen the relief in their eyes when they realized I _wasn't_ Graham's Enforcer."

Forrest shakes her head disgustedly. "But now look at you. You've gone soft. Just like Casey. More worried about some disposable asset's feelings than getting the job done. Neither of you has the guts to make the tough decisions. The ones that need to be made for this country to survive."

Sarah smiles. "We'll have to agree to disagree on that one, Agent."

The woman is defiant. "Never gonna happen. You and me will never see eye-to-eye."

Sarah looks her straight in the face. "You know, I came here with the intent of giving you a fair chance to explain yourself, despite what I'd read and Casey told me.

"I see now I needn't have bothered. I don't have to hear any more. You're everything Casey said and then some. From the first moment Graham told me he was sending you here, I believed that you were the wrong choice. And nothing you've shown me today has convinced me otherwise.

"You're the main reason everything fell apart here, Forrest. Not the NSA and certainly not Chuck."

Her faced flushed with anger, Forrest snaps back, "You know what? To hell with you. To hell with Casey. And to hell with _Chuck_ Bartowski."

The woman yanks the suitcase off the bed. Grabs the handle of the larger one on the floor.

"I'm outta here. If I'm never in Burbank again, it'll be too soon."

Sarah jibes back. "Burbank thanks you."

Forrest flushes, her eyes narrowed.

Sarah smiles thinly. "And, by the way, you don't have to worry. I've no intention of undermining your past actions here. You can bask in the glory of the team's previous successes, for all I care."

She pauses, makes sure she has Forrest's attention before she growls, absolute menace in her voice, "But if I ever hear, even a rumor, that you've done anything more to ruin his life, I'll hunt you down like a dog. You got that?"

Forrest swallows heavily, but, after a second or two, replies, determinedly, "Don't worry. I have no desire to have anything more to do with him. The man's a loser who deliberately sabotaged the most productive intelligence operation I've ever seen or even heard of. All because he didn't like his handler."

Sarah doesn't react to the provocation, just calmly responds, "We'll have to disagree. Again."

Forrest snarls. "I don't know what you think is gonna happen here, Walker, but don't fool yourself. Once the asset finds out that you're my replacement, he won't like you any better than he liked me. And neither will that interfering sister of his."

She adds, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Good luck with that. You'll need it."

"Doubt I could possibly handle things any worse than you did, Forrest."

The woman scoffs. "Don't be so sure." She turns and, hauling the suitcase behind her, walks toward the door. But, just before reaching it, she stops, faces Sarah once more.

"You really shouldn't believe all this BS about the CIA being a kinder, gentler organization. If the Director ever feels the asset poses a threat to national security, _he'll_ make the tough call, despite whatever promises were made."

Forrest fires her Parthian shot.

"But this time, you'll be the one expected to carry out his orders. You prepared to do your duty, Walker?"

…

Sarah sits on the edge of the bed, unclenches her fists, tries to slow down her heart, bring herself back under control. But it's difficult, as the very air in the room still seems charged with the vicious spitefulness that had flowed between her and Forrest

 _I wanted her to attack me. To see her on the floor, bloodied and beaten._

 _Punished._

The vehemence of her emotions shocks her.

 _Why? Why do I care? I don't even know the man._

But then Casey's words come back to her.

 _You do know him. You just haven't met him._

She stares off into space. Baffled.

 _Is that even possible? To know, to care about someone from a single photo, a few thousand dryly recorded official words and some first hand accounts?_

Unable to answer her own questions, she stands. Pushes away her disquieting thoughts. Focuses on the mission.

She glances at her watch, sees she has enough time to collect her baggage from the car and have a shower before she heads to the Buy More.

Just as she reaches the door, she stops, mentally snaps her fingers.

 _Of course._

 _The kitten._

 _That's it._

 _I only care because Chuck's defenseless and the world, especially my world, has treated him like crap. Anyone possessing even the smallest amount of compassion (not Forrest, clearly), would feel the same way._

 _It's just a natural instinct. Nothing more._

She can't help but feel relieved. Like a weight's been taken off her mind.

 _Yes, it all makes sense now._

Buoyed up by her new-found awareness, she shuts the door resolutely behind her, strides purposefully towards the elevator.

 _I can handle this._

She firmly pushes the call button, running over in her mind how she'll approach Chuck.

 _Piece of cake._

However, just as the elevator arrives, a tiny, insistent voice intrudes.

 _But it wasn't just compassion, was it, Sarah? You loved that kitten. Truth be told, more than you ever cared for Bryce._

Her shoulders slump.

 _Damnit_.

...

She stands, irresolutely, before the entrance of the Buy More.

 _Just go in. Get it over with._

She tries to take a step, but it's almost as if her feet are encased in the concrete of the sidewalk.

 _What if Forrest was right? What if he looks at me the same way he looked at her?_

She gives herself a shake.

 _It's a job, Agent, not a date. Don't confuse the two._

 _Get your head in the game._

She takes a deep breath. Steps forward. The automatic doors swoosh open. Orienting herself, she sees the Nerd Herd ( _ridiculous name_ ) Desk in the center of the store at the end of a long aisle, flanked with a plethora of consumer electronics on display.

She recognizes Chuck immediately, even over the distance that separates them and even though all she can see is the curly-haired top of his head. He's sitting, his crossed arms on the counter with his head resting upon them. She wonders if he's somehow, while in the middle of the busy, noisy store, found a way to actually nap.

She notices a couple of odd looking individuals dressed identically in white short-sleeved shirts, gray tie and black pants approach him, but a short, bearded man in a green shirt intercepts them.

 _Morgan_.

She has no idea who the other two are, though. That is, not until she hears Morgan chastise the pair of them.

"I thought I told you to leave Chuck alone. He's tired. And he's been sick. So just back off."

The shorter, long-haired man whines, "But I need to ask—"

"I said no, Lester. Go find somewhere else to be."

The frizzy haired man mumbles, monotonically, "But this is where we're supposed to be."

"Don't care, Jeff. Take Lester and beat it."

The two seem reluctant to move on, so Morgan physically herds them down an intersecting aisle towards the back of the store. She hears the sound of their continued protests gradually dwindle as the distance increases.

The good thing is that this gives her an opportunity for an unhurried approach.

Which is just as well.

Never has she felt so far off her game at the start of an assignment. In the past, she'd invariably been cool, calculating, completely in control, always with a backup plan firmly in place.

And a backup to the backup.

But not now. She's floundering. She has no idea what's going to happen here.

Forrest's words come back to haunt her.

 _What do I_ expect _to happen here?_

She'd pondered, vacillated, really, over what to wear for this first meet with Charles Bartowski, her new...what exactly? Charge? Protectee?

She'd eventually dismissed her black suit as too business-like. Had reasoned that she didn't want to come across as overly formal. And she'd also dismissed the pink blouse, gray skirt combo as being too _informal_ , too flirty.

Finally, she'd settled on a white, lace-edged top under a short, belted, brown leather jacket, combined with jeans and brown leather boots. She'd left her hair down in soft curls.

Checking herself in the mirror, she'd thought, hoped, she'd hit just the right note.

 _I'll find out soon enough._

She rings the bell on the counter, it's delicate ting rousing him from his lethargy.

Without raising his head, he mumbles something about Morgan leaving him alone, reaches over to stop the irritating noise.

His hand comes to rest on hers, the warmth of his grasp paradoxically sending a sudden chill through her. She feels the goosebumps raise on her arm.

It only takes a second or two for him to realize the hand he's holding is definitely not that of his friend. He drops her hand as his head comes up.

He sees her.

First time.

Wonder in his eyes.

She sees him.

First time.

Barely manages to hold in her gasp.

He stands.

Smiles, a little shyly, his beautiful eyes deep, warm.

She falls.

Commits herself in the moment between two beats of her heart.

 _I won't let anyone hurt you, Chuck._

 _Anyone who tries will have to go through me._

 _I promise._

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: One reader commented, rightly, that I haven't done much to expand Forrest's character beyond her one episode. I tried, I really did, but, in the end, I came to the conclusion that I really, really don't like her. So what you see is what you get._

 _We know from canon that Sarah fell for Chuck almost from the very beginning, while hardly knowing anything of him except what the file had told her. With that in mind, knowing what she does here, what he's managed to accomplish over the past couple of years, combined with Casey's first hand account, I didn't find it unreasonable that the attraction would be immediate and strong._

 _At least on her part. Chuck's response will be a little different. We'll see that starting next chapter._

 _Thank you for reading and commenting._

 _PS If you aren't reading Zettel's superb (Mis)Education of Sarah Walker, I urge you to do so. Yes, it's deep, and, yes, parts of it are heavy going , but don't give up. I'm confident that the story won't let you down._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: First of all, a big thanks to all who've continued to follow this story. This chapter is very late, I know. Real life and a struggle to get the words down the way I wanted._

 _A cute meet cute? Please read on and see._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Thanks to Zettel, Grayroc and my beta, Michaelfmx for their continued support, encouragement and ideas._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Five: Rejuvenation**

All her words crash to the ground, shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. She can't seem to find a way to reassemble even a single one of them. So, instead of introducing herself, getting down to business, she just stands there, smiling, wordless, lost in him.

In his eyes.

 _The photo didn't do them justice._

Sarah is used to men looking, even staring at her. Has been since the CIA did its makeover.

But, with few exceptions, there's always been a note, sometimes major, sometimes minor, of lasciviousness behind their eyes. To the point where she has no difficulty recognizing it, even anticipating it.

But there's none of that here, not even a hint. It's easy to tell he's attracted to her, but his gaze is one of wondrous fascination. A look she imagines (since her father had never taken her there) would be on the face of a child seeing Disneyland for the first time.

However, after a few long, silent seconds pass, his smile begins to fade. He begins to look a little puzzled, uncomfortable.

He speaks. A little uncertainly. "Hi, may I help you…"

It takes her a moment to realize he's fishing for a name. With an almost physical jolt, she brings herself back to earth.

"Sarah. Sarah Walker."

"Hi, Sarah. My name is—"

"Chuck Bartowski."

He looks even more confused, but then looks down to his name tag, an expression of comprehension passing over his face.

She doesn't correct his misapprehension. _Not yet._

Satisfied, he returns his attention to her. His eyes search her face, as if he's trying to figure out something.

"Excuse me, Sarah, I really hope this doesn't sound like a come on," he takes a breath, "but do I know you?"

 _No. But, I know you, Chuck._

She opens her mouth to reply, but before she's able to do so, he launches into a rambling monologue.

"It's not as if I would normally forget someone who looks like you." He pauses, blushing. "I'm so sorry. That _definitely_ does sound like a come on. It's just that you somehow seem familiar. I was thinking that maybe I met you at Stanford, at one of those frat parties. One where I had a little too much to drink."

He pauses again, takes a deeper breath this time. "Not that I did that very often. Meet woman like yourself at frat parties, I mean. None that I can recall. Or drink too much, for that matter. But there were a couple of times where I couldn't remember very much the next morning. You know, after the night before. So, it would be super embarrassing if we'd met before, but now I couldn't remember, and I…"

He shakes his head. "I think I'll shut up now."

She giggles. _I don't giggle._

He smiles, awkwardly, red-faced, but still charmingly.

Shaking her head and, looking up into his eyes, she replies to his almost forgotten question, lets him off the hook. "No, Chuck. We haven't met before."

His relief is palpable. "That's good." He shakes his head. "Sometimes I feel like a perfect idiot."

"That's rather conceited of you, Mr. Bartowski."

His face falls. "What?"

"Nobody's _perfect_ , Chuck."

 _Though some are closer than others._

He doesn't seem to know what to make of that. Not until he sees the amusement she can't keep out of her eyes.

He chuckles. "Could you please do me a favor?"

She replies with mock seriousness, "What? We've just met and you're _already_ asking for favors?"

His face falls again, but only for the instant it takes for him to catch on. "You _are_ good." He pauses. "So it _is_ OK to ask?"

Cheerily, she replies, "Fire away."

"Please pretend that embarrassing little spiel never happened. If you're agreeable, I can start over. A second chance for me to make a first impression."

She nods, slowly, solemnly. "Well, it's a lot to ask, but...OK."

A grin lights up his face, crinkling his nose. She feels her pulse speed up.

He offers his hand. "Hi, my name is Chuck. How may I help you?"

She takes it, warmed, this time, by his grasp. She can't stop herself from grinning toothily back.

 _Time to move this conversation to a more private place._

"Hi, Chuck. My name is Sarah. I was wondering if we could—"

A voice hisses, interrupts, from behind her. "Alex, what the hell are you doing here? You break up with Chuck, tell him you're leaving town and now you think can just waltz in here and he'll take you—"

 _That's a little tidbit of cover story Forrest neglected to tell me about._

She turns, still holding Chuck's hand, to face an angry Morgan Grimes.

He seems slightly stupefied. "You're not Alex."

"No, I'm not. My name is Sarah."

The man flushes. "I'm so sorry, Sarah." He looks her up and down, quickly, not disrespectfully.

"You're much prettier than her." He whacks himself in the forehead. "Of course, you don't know Alex. She's Chuck's ex who treated him like—"

"Morgan!"

Both turn to face Chuck, who sternly adds, "You have somewhere else to be, little buddy. Right?"

He looks back and forth between Sarah and Chuck, then smiles. "Of course. I'll leave the two of you alone." Morgan, notices their joined hands, looks at her, gives her a little bow. "Nice to meet _you_ , Sarah." He wanders off toward the photocopiers.

Sarah watches him for a couple of seconds then returns her attention to Chuck. "Nice to have a friend looking out…"

She stops, the smile dropping from her face, shocked at the abrupt change in his demeanor. Gone is the warm, shy amiability of just a few moments ago. In its stead is a cold, hard-edged bitterness, anger. And, unless she's misreading him, a level of disappointment.

He drops her hand.

His voice is flat, hard, stinging even though he's only speaking loud enough for two of them to hear. "You can drop the act. You're Forrest's replacement, aren't you, _Agent Walker_? That's what's so familiar about you. I should've realized it the first second I saw you. After we 'broke-up', she informed me the CIA would be sending someone else out here. Some by-the-book enforcer of the rules who wouldn't put up with all the crap she'd had to deal with."

"Chuck—"

He cuts her off, harshly. Shakes his head. "You know, you'd think you guys could've come up with a more original approach. What is it with the CIA? Do they have this endless supply of tall blondes they can use to put one over on chumps like me? Although, knowing how I felt about the last one, your boss might've thought about sending a brunette this time."

"Chuck—"

He cuts her off again, sighs, a mixture of resignation and frustration overlaying his anger. "So, what's the drill? I'm to pretend that I fell for you on the rebound? That I'm ready to move on to a new relationship after only a few days have passed? Do you think that anyone will believe that a woman who looks like _you_ would actually be interested in a guy like _me_? The whole Forrest scenario strained belief the first time. Really don't think it'll fly a second time."

"Chuck—"

He cuts her off a third time, hisses, "Stop calling me Chuck. Like you know me or something. I'm just an assignment to you. A name and face in some file folder."

He slumps. "I hated it when _she_ called me that."

He suddenly straightens, his head held high. "But, if we're gonna fake it, I suppose that's what you'll have to do and I suppose I'll have to call you Sarah. At least in public."

He shrugs his shoulders. "In the end, I really don't have a choice, do I?

"So, what'll be this time _Agent Walker?_ Ellie will find out Devon's been cheating on her? He'll lose his license over some malpractice issue? They'll discover a cache of child porn on Morgan's computer?"

He looks her in the eye, his words dripping sarcastic disdain. "But maybe you've come up with more imaginative ways of making me cooperate, _Agent_ _Walker_. Won't make any difference, though. Despite what you may have been told, the damn thing simply stopped working. Wasn't my choice, even though Forest made it clear she believed otherwise."

He glares, arms crossed in front of him. "So, threaten away, _Agent Walker_. You can lower the bucket as often as you want, but you're still gonna come up dry."

 _Agent Walker_. It's hard to believe two little words could be spoken with so much vitriol. It's as if he's stabbing her, over and over.

 _This is so, so far from the way I wanted…hoped…this meeting to go._

Her first impulse is to shut down, deeply wounded by his words. Or maybe lash out in turn, angered at his unwillingness to let her get in a word in edgewise, to give her any chance to clear up his misconceptions.

Instead, she does neither.

 _What did you expect, Sarah? You walk in here, flirt with him as Forrest did instead of telling him why you're actually here. Is it any wonder he jumped to wrong conclusions?_

 _I need to regroup._

She takes a step back. Takes a deep breath.

Pushing her frustration, her disappointment aside, she strives to keep her tone of voice businesslike, neither angry or hurt.

"Mr. Bartowski, we've gotten off on the wrong foot. That's mostly my fault and I'd like to apologize."

She pauses. "But what you asked of me, I now ask of you. A second chance to make a first impression. Are you willing to extend me that courtesy? Or is it too much to ask?"

He has the grace to look a little chagrined, perhaps regretting his tirade, at least a little.

His arms drop to his sides.

"No, I guess not," he begrudgingly replies.

Not all she'd hoped for, but, at this point, she'll take what she can get.

"Thank you. Is there someplace more private where we could go to talk?"

He glances down at his watch. "We close in five minutes." He thinks for a moment before going on, "There's a place I like not far from here."

"Bennigan's? I saw the sign when I drove in."

This elicits a small, brief smile, one she's happy to see, though puzzled by it. He shakes his head. "No, definitely _not_ Bennigan's."

Abruptly, he asks, "You hungry?"

She stops, trying to think the last time she'd eaten, realizes it'd been that tasteless, generic reheated meal on the plane.

"I could eat."

"Good. I could too."

He glances at her, then turns away, almost mumbles, "Maybe that's part of the reason I was so grouchy."

He doesn't offer anything further, but she recognizes his small attempt at some sort of apology.

She doesn't comment, just asks, "I'll meet you out front?"

He nods. "See you in a bit."

…

She's waiting on the sidewalk, enjoying the warm night air (a contrast to the autumnal coolness she left behind in D.C.) when he exits the store.

Somehow, he looks even taller now that he's freed from his assigned position behind the Nerd Herd counter. He's wearing a dark Buy More jacket, his name inscribed on the right side, and black, hi-top Converses.

 _Chuck's Chucks. How appropriate._

A quick, little smile passes across her face. He notices. Raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"I like the shoes."

He's surprised. "You do?

She nods.

"Forrest always hated them. Thought people would notice them when I was supposed to be blending in during a mission." He snorts. "As if they wouldn't notice a lanky six-three man with a mop of curly hair.

 _Lanky. I like that word._ _Suits him._

"She wanted me to get rid of them, but I put my foot down." He stops, embarrassed.

"Please pretend you didn't hear me just say that."

"Last thing I remember was the lanky part."

He gives her a grateful glance.

"Where's your car?"

She gestures to her right. "This way."

He nods. Their little moment seems to have passed, so they walk, unspeaking, to her vehicle. After they seat themselves and buckle up, she asks, "Where are we going?"

"Turn right onto Burbank Boulevard. Left on North Hollywood. Then right on West Victory."

"OK."

"You like burgers?"

"Yeah, I do."

"That's good. This place is a bit of a hole in the wall, nothing fancy, but they make a great cheeseburger. And no too expensive."

"Sounds good."

A few minutes later finds them parked in front of a small bar/restaurant she would've never noticed on her own. _Lou's Place._ The image of the owner as a crusty, older man, a former reporter, pops into her mind for some reason.

She reaches for her door handle, but stops as she sees him fidgeting in his seat, looking out the side window. He appears uncomfortable, as if he's come to some sort of difficult decision.

Without turning her way, he speaks, "Look, I know you just here to do your job. And I expect that being here is not your first choice. Certainly wasn't Forrest's. I suspect Burbank may be the armpit of the spy world.

"Truth be told, I really don't want you here, either. I don't even understand why they sent you.

The damn thing is dead. So why waste your time and mine? I'd like to move on with my life. Put the last two years behind me. But the government doesn't seem to know how to say goodbye."

He turns to her then, earnestly asks, "So why _are_ you here, Sarah Walker?"

 _At least he's willing to use my name. That's a step forward._

She wonders where to start.

"It's complicated. And I am hungry. So why don't we go inside and eat? Then I'll tell you the story. OK?"

A moment or two passes. He nods. "OK."

…

She likes the place immediately. Quiet, cozy. Booths on one side, a bar on the other. Seemingly empty except for a couple sitting side-by-side at the bar, engrossed in each other.

A short, perky looking brunette walks up, smiles.

"Chuck! I haven't seen you for a while. You OK?"

"Sure, Lou."

 _Not what I expected._

"Under the weather for a while, but fine now."

She raises her arms. "Come here, you big goof."

Chuck bends over, a long way over. The woman must be over a foot shorter than him.

She hugs him, gives him a brief kiss on the cheek. He straightens up.

The woman looks inquiringly Sarah's way.

"Sorry. Lou, this is Sarah."

Lou's smile is friendly, but Sarah can sense the scrutiny in the woman's eyes. "Hi, Sarah. Good to meet you."

 _I'm being evaluated. Why?_

"Good to meet you, Lou."

The woman turns back to Chuck. "So, you'll be wanting a spot for _two_ tonight?"

Chuck seems a little flustered. "Yes. The booth near the back, please."

"Done." She leads them to the last booth. They sit, facing each other.

"Your usual?"

He nods. She turns to Sarah.

"Chuck told me the cheeseburgers are good. I'll go with that. Medium rare. Extra pickles, please."

"Two cheeseburger platters, it is."

Lou studies the two of them for a few seconds. "I think you two need a couple of beers. Maybe loosen things up a bit. Sound good?"

They both nod, not looking at each other.

"OK. I'll give you guys some privacy."

Sarah watches him watch Lou walk toward the kitchen. He looks wistful. Deeply saddened.

Abruptly, her irritation, her disappointment sloughs away.

 _What happened here, Chuck?_

Quietly, she asks, "Friend of yours?"

He nods, still looking in the direction of the kitchen. "One day, last year, I lost it, blew up at Forrest in the Buy More. I was so tired and she just kept on pushing and pushing. Since we couldn't walk it back, she decided we'd act as if we'd temporarily broken up. She thought it would add realism to the cover.

"Around then, Lou came by the store. Phone problems. We hit it off. She kept dropping by. We'd flirt a little. I took her to lunch a few times at the deli in the Buy More Plaza. Dinner once."

He looks at Sarah. His voice hardens. "Until Forrest noticed and put the kibosh on it. Made it abundantly clear there was no room in my life for what she termed as 'outside interests'."

"Lou's moved on. She got engaged last month."

He sighs.

"I saw the ring."

He nods, tries to sound angry, but she can tell his heart's not really in it. "I guess you agents are trained to notice stuff like that, huh?"

He looks back toward the kitchen, shoulders slumped.

Sarah doesn't say anything, just watches the emotions pass across his face. His despondency, his hopelessness impels her to speak. It's not how she'd planned to start things, but she can't bear to see him so down.

 _He hurts. I hurt._

"Chuck."

He turns to face her, his earlier displeasure at the use of his name apparently forgotten for the moment.

"Please trust me when I tell you that things are going to get better from now on."

He sounds weary, defeated. "Tell me, just how am I supposed to do that? Trust you? I've been lied to for so long. Forced to deceive everyone I care about. To do things I hate. So, why should I trust _you_? Why should I believe _you're_ really any better than Forrest?"

 _He won't like you any better than he liked me._

 _No, I won't…I can't let that happen._

 _Give him something, Sarah._

Making sure she has his attention, she firmly states, "I'm not here to play the part of your girlfriend."

He's clearly taken aback by her words, her tone.

"Excuse me? I don't understand."

"No more fake relationships. We're done with all that. You'll be free to pursue anyone you care about."

Incredulous, it takes a few seconds before he's able to reply, "Really? You mean I won't have to pretend to like you?"

His words are a knife to her heart, but she fights off the sharp, stabbing pain, somehow manages to give him a weak smile. Consumed by his burgeoning joy, he doesn't seem to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes.

"No, you won't."

"God's truth?"

She nods. "God's truth."

He sits up straight once more, smiling, suddenly reenergized. He opens his mouth to comment, but stops when Lou comes back to the table holding a tray with two beers and a single glass.

"Here you are, guys. I know Chuck, but I wasn't sure about you, Sarah." Pause. "Bottle or glass?"

"Bottle's fine for me."

"Good." Lou tosses down a couple of coasters, plunks the bottles on them. "Cook's a little slow tonight. But that'll give you two a chance to talk. Enjoy the beers."

Lou walks off, but this time Sarah notices that Chuck's eyes don't follow. Instead, they remain focused on her.

"There's something I don't get. You're telling me you're not here to be my fake girlfriend and yet you've been sent here as Forrest's replacement."

"Yes."

"I understand what you're you're _not_ here to do, but that doesn't answer the question of why you _are_ here.

"And please, don't say it's complicated again. I've had enough _complicated_ for two lifetimes."

Sarah regards him silently for a few long seconds.

Un-complicate. Un-obfuscate. Actions the exact opposite of what had been drilled into her over and over, to the point where it had become second-nature.

But now, for one the few times in her life, certainly the first time while she's been on an assignment, she can actually be open, truthful.

 _Terra incognita._

It's a little terrifying.

Before she can overthink it, she tells him, "I was sent here to terminate the operation. To shut..."

Her voice tapers off, puzzled, when she sees him pull back, his eyes wide with fear. But it's gone as quickly as it came and he relaxes once more.

After clearing his throat, he asks, "May I give you a piece of advice, Sarah Walker?"

She nods, unsure where he's going.

"Throwing the word _terminate_ around, especially in this context, and especially with nerds like myself, has the tendency to create some rather….unpleasant…mind pictures."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know, the movie? Arnold Schwarzenegger?"

She looks at him blankly.

He goes on in a deep, Germanic voice, "I'll be back?"

She shakes her head. "No idea what you're talking about."

He lets out a small chuckle. "Don't watch much sci-fi, do you?"

"No. I don't."

"Arnold played a _Terminator,_ a robotic assassin,sent to take out the hero. Suffice to say, you using that word had me going for a few seconds. Until I realized how foolish I was being."

He looks her straight in the eye. "If you'd been sent to _terminate_ _me_ , I'd already be dead."

He says it so matter-a-factly, so calmly, that it takes a few seconds for his statement to sink in. When it finally does, she's horrified, sickened by the thought that he might, even for a moment, believe her capable of doing that to him.

Before she can contain herself, she grabs his hand with both of hers, blurts out, "No, Chuck, no! I could never do that!"

She takes a deep breath, tries to rein in her emotions. More calmly she continues, "I'm here to watch over you. To protect you."

Clearly surprised by her impulsiveness, he glances down at her hands encasing his, then studies her face once more. He asks, a mixture of disbelief and hope in his voice, "Really? To protect me? That's your main reason for coming here?"

Her cheeks burning, rendered intensely self-conscious by her impassioned outburst, she pulls her hands back, places them in her lap. She nods.

"From whom?"

"Any remnants of Fulcrum. Or anyone else who might want you gone."

 _Including the government. But I can't tell him that. Yet. Baby steps._

"And what if the government assigns someone to take me out like it did before?"

She stares, slack-jawed. "How…how…?"

"I not naive." He pauses. "Maybe I was before all this happened, but not anymore. If I hadn't been so relieved to hear that the new Intersect computer was ready to go online, I would've realized that it made _me_ redundant. What's the saying, 'Superfluous to need?'

"And too dangerous to leave hanging around, at least in _their_ eyes. Especially Graham's. Mind you, I only realized this after your former boss died and I was back to being the sole Intersect.

"I assume you've spoken with Casey?"

"Yes, just after I flew in. He filled me in on a lot of what's happened here. He's a good man."

He gives her a long look. "Yes, _he_ is.

"Did he tell you about how he got me falling-down drunk on the night before the new computer was to be fired up?"

She looks down at her beer bottle, fiddles with the label. Warily, she replies, "Why do you ask?"

"Don't worry. It's not as if you'll be giving away any secrets. It took me couple days, but I eventually figured out that he'd been protecting me from whomever they'd sent to dispose of me. Forrest, I assume?"

"You figured that out?" She shakes her head in wonder. "And yet you kept working for them. With her. Why? Why would you do that after realizing what they'd planned?"

"A number of reasons. She'd made it clear, early on, that there was no place for me to run, no place to hide.

"And there were the threats against my friends and family if I didn't cooperate."

At this fresh reminder, Sarah feels her rage flare up once more.

"Casey tell you about that?"

She nods, curtly. "He suspected it was something like that. So did I. Forrest confirmed it for me."

He raises an eyebrow. "So, you've also spoken to the woman-with-a-heart-of-granite. I imagine that conversation didn't go quite as smoothly as the one you had with Casey."

She emphatically replies, "No. It did not."

She pauses, hesitant, even now, to reveal the flaws of a fellow agent, but she quickly pushes aside any thoughts of misplaced loyalty. "Forrest was the wrong choice for this assignment. When I saw her, earlier, I told her in no uncertain terms how I felt about the way she'd mishandled things here."

He's surprised by her candor. "You mean you and her are _not_ on the same page?"

Her reply is immediate, forceful. "We aren't even in the same damn book."

He regards her for what seems like a long while, then nods slowly. "You know, I starting to believe that, Sarah Walker."

She holds his penetrating gaze for few seconds, then blushes, looks down into her lap.

 _Thank you._

There are a few moments of silence until she hears him say, tentatively, "I haven't told anyone the biggest reason I kept on going."

She looks up again. "No one?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Who was there to tell? I couldn't say anything, for obvious reasons, to the people I care about. Casey's a good man, but he's a man's man, not the type to talk about feelings and stuff. And I sure as hell wasn't going to confide in Forrest."

"So, just when you needed it most, you were cut off from support? Emotionally isolated?" The words come out quietly, almost as if she's musing to herself.

He nods. "Yeah, that's a pretty good way of putting it. I really could've used someone to talk to."

 _Me too, Chuck._

"At the risk of sounding like a nerd once more, there was one superhero who had to recognize that along with power comes responsibility. Yes, I had this…this heaviness…in my head, and I hated what it did to my life.

"But I couldn't just walk away because I also came to realize that it gave me the ability to help protect good people. To shield them from at least _some_ of the evil in this world."

He blushes. "Sorry, that sounded like something out of a comic book, didn't it?"

Moved by his honesty, his openness, she shakes her head, softly replies, "No, Chuck, it sounded like something out of your heart."

He blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Really." She nods.

"Thank you. Thank you for understanding…Sarah."

Hesitantly, he reaches across, looking like he's going to place his hand on hers. But then he seems to think twice and hastily withdraws it.

 _I wouldn't have minded._

"You're welcome, Chuck."

He gives his head a little shake. "You continue to surprise me. You're not what I expected…or feared."

At that moment they hear footsteps. They both turn to see Lou walking their way, a large plate in each hand.

She sets the plates on the table, then looks back and forth between the two of them.

"You guys doing OK?"

Chuck glances at Sarah. She smiles.

He replies, "Yes, Lou. We're getting there."

She nods, a look of satisfaction on her face. "I'm glad to hear that. I'll be at the bar if you need anything."

Sarah replies, "Thank you, Lou. The food smells delicious."

She nods. "Thanks, but smelling doesn't put meat on your bones. Eat! Now!"

They both chuckle as Lou turns and walks toward the bar.

He nods toward the food, grins. "I guess we should follow orders?"

"Sounds good to me."

She picks up her burger, the whole thing. It seems Lou is a believer in the all or nothing principle.

Taking a bite, she moans, just a little. Without thinking, her mouth still half-full, she exclaims, "Chuck, this is fantastic. I can't recall the last time I had a burger this good."

Abruptly realizing what she's just done, she hastily, embarrassedly covers her mouth with her hand.

He doesn't seem offended, however. Rather, he just grins.

"Don't worry. That's the first reaction I had as well. Go ahead and eat."

She swallows and smiles back.

Tacitly, they agree to finish their meals before conversing any further.

…

A few minutes later, she pushes away her empty plate, then picks up her beer and takes a healthy swig.

Only then does she realize he's looking at curiously.

Glancing at his plate, she sees he's only about two-thirds done.

She flushes. "Sorry. Guess I was really hungry."

He waves it off. "I'm just happy to see you aren't one of those carrot-stick girls."

She raises an eyebrow, inquiringly.

"You know, the whole, 'I'm-sacrificing-so-much-just-so-I-can-look-good-for-you-so-you-damn-well-better-get-down-on-your-hands-and-knees-and-worship-me' schtick. Couldn't abide that."

She laughs. "No, definitely not a carrot-stick girl."

"So, Sarah why are _you_ here? I understand that that the CIA felt there was a need to protect me, or at least go through the motions. But they could've sent any junior agent. And although I don't know your history, I'm quite certain that you're anything but new to this business."

Taken aback by his perceptiveness, she asks, "Why, Chuck? What makes you so certain?"

"There's a certain…weariness, that I've often seen in Casey's eyes. And Forrest's as well, to be fair. A tiredness that extends well beyond the physical. And when I look in your eyes, I see it too.

"You've been at this a while, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. I was…quite young when I was brought into the CIA."

"How young?"

She hesitates.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Ellie always told me you never ask an age question from a woman and here I go doing it—"

She leaps. "Seventeen."

His mouth drops. "Seventeen?"

"Yes."

"That can't be legal, can it?"

"No, Chuck. It wasn't. Graham recruited me personally. Coerced me, really. Before I finished high school."

She sees his color rise. Clearly, he's angry, but, just as clearly, not at her.

"You mean to tell me that…that bastard forced you into joining the CIA. At seventeen. How? Did he threaten you somehow? Like Forrest did with me?"

 _Yes. Of course. How come I didn't realize that until now?_

"Yes, that's exactly what he did, Chuck. A thinly disguised threat against my father."

It seems like he wants to ask for details, but appears to change his mind.

She's thankful he doesn't press for more.

"They know how to get to us, don't they, Sarah?"

 _Us. I like the sound of that._

She replies, "Yes, Chuck. _They_ certainly do."

He grins, conspiratorially. "Well, Sarah Walker, we can't let the bastards win now, can we?"

She can't hold back an answering grin. "No, we can't."

"So, to get back on track… _you're_ here because..."

"I was supposed to be Forrest, Chuck."

 _That's a rather clumsy way of phrasing it._

Predictably, he's confused. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I was the agent originally assigned to come out here and retrieve the Intersect."

"Oh, I see." He chews on that for a few seconds. "Why didn't you?"

"The night before I was to leave I was in a serious accident. My car was hit by a kid running a red light. My left leg was shattered. I spent the next year recovering."

His hand moves across the table again, but this time he doesn't stop until it comes to rest lightly upon hers. There's genuine sympathy in his eyes, in his voice. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. That must've been a terrible time."

She shrugs, doing her best to ignore the sudden tingle flowing up her arm. "I survived. I found out the next morning that Forrest had been sent here to replace me.

"I didn't think she was really suitable for the role, but it wasn't my decision to make."

"Did you know her before?"

"Only by reputation. And an acquaintance with some of her previous missions. But it was enough."

"So why did you think she was so wrong for me? For Burbank?"

"I knew about your parents leaving. About Stanford. How life had kicked you around. Her…style…was wrong for someone who'd gone through all that."

He's shocked. "How did you know about all that?"

"I'd read your file, Chuck."

"Wait. I had a file even then?"

"Yes. But if it's any consolation, it looked quite new. I suspect it was hastily assembled when they found out Bryce had sent the Intersect to you."

"Ah, yes. Dear, old Bryce. Have you heard how he's doing? Please don't tell me he's been forgiven for going rogue and sending this damn thing to me. He ruined my life so I kinda hoped he's leading a miserable one as well."

It's Sarah's turn to be shocked. "Chuck, Bryce is dead. Shot while stealing the Intersect. Didn't they tell you?"

He's bewildered. "Bryce is dead?"

"Yes."

Still disbelieving. "He's actually dead?"

"Yes, Chuck."

 _Not the time to tell him who the shooter was. That's Casey's job._

He starts to pull his hand back, but she doesn't let him. Grasps it firmly.

She leans closer. "Are you OK, Chuck?"

He starts to nod his head, but then shakes it instead. "No, not really. Sure, I wished the man dead lots of times, but I didn't really mean it."

He quietly adds, his voice choked, "We were roommates…friends…at Stanford, Sarah."

"Yes, Chuck, I know."

She hesitates, unsure how much she should tell him about her and Bryce. Her ingrained reaction is to hold back, still so unused to sharing anything with anyone.

 _He needs to know, Sarah._

"Chuck, I can understand some of what you're going through. Your sense of loss."

"How, Sarah?"

"Bryce and I were partners before all this happened."

"Partners? You and Bryce?"

"Yes, we were a team that went by the name of the Andersons. A married couple."

He's stunned. "You were _married_ to Bryce?"

She flushes. "Sorry, I wasn't clear. We _portrayed_ a married couple. It was a good cover."

"So you were like Forrest and me. Pretending to have a relationship."

She's sorely tempted to leave it at that.

 _No. No lies. Can't build trust on lies._

"No, Chuck. We weren't pretending. Not totally. There was a considerable period when we were…close."

"Close?" Then it sinks in. He blushes. "Oh!"

He shakes his head. "I"m sorry, Sarah. That's none of my business."

Giving his hand a squeeze, she assures him, "Don't worry. I didn't think you were prying."

He appears to be about to thank her when she sees him put the pieces together.

"Wait. Am I understanding that you were badly injured _and_ lost your boyfriend all on the same night?"

"Not quite. Yes, the accident and Bryce's death did happen on the same night, but we'd been apart for some time before that."

"Still, it must've hurt, Sarah."

Her first instinct is to shrug it off, hide the pain within herself. But when she looks into his eyes, brimming with sympathy, her resolve crumbles.

"Yes, Chuck, it did. Deeply. He betrayed me. Betrayed whatever we'd had before."

"And then to get hurt, to be out of action for so long." He shakes his head. "I admire you. I don't know if I would've had the strength to bounce back. To get back out in the field after everything you'd been through. That's a real accomplishment."

She squirms in her seat, warmed, but, at the same time, feeling unworthy of his praise.

 _But I didn't bounce back._

"Thank you, Chuck, but the truth is that this is the first time I've been in the field since the accident."

"I don't presume to know you, but that seems like a waste of talent."

She's about to tell him it's complicated, but manages to check herself in time.

"Let me try to explain what happened."

"OK."

"Did you ever flash on anything about me, Chuck?"

He thinks for a few moments. "No, not that I can recall."

She's unsure if his lack of knowledge makes it better or worse.

 _Here we go._

"I was Langston Graham's right-hand man. His go-to when matters needed to be taken care of."

"I'm not sure what that means."

 _Don't sugar coat it._

"I was his enforcer, Chuck."

He flinches. "So that meant taking out…people."

She nods, reluctantly. "Yes. Sometimes."

He absorbs that, thoughtful.

"You don't seem to be overly shocked."

"I guess I'm not. At least not as much as I would've been before all this happened. A couple of years in this business will do that to you. I've seen a lot of things, both up here,' he taps on his temple, "and on missions. As well, with all the flashes, I've come to know my handler's files pretty well by now. I imagine yours would be similar."

 _Worse_.

She agrees. "Yes, that's true." _Baby steps._

"Don't get me wrong. I see what this life has done to me in just a couple of years. I can only imagine what it's done to you. I understand the necessity but that doesn't make it any more pleasant."

He squeezes her hand. "Sarah, it's brutally unfair that you were given no choice, that you've been forced into this life. Have had to do the things you've done. I'm so sorry."

She feels tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Blinks them away before they fall.

 _When was the last time anyone said a kind word to me?_

She places her free hand on top of his, says, softly, "Thank you, Chuck."

"You're welcome, Sarah."

They share a moment of comfortable silence. Then he asks, "Did things change when Graham died?"

"Yes, they did. After they discovered the many illegal actions he'd been engaged in, there was a...reaction. A movement to portray the CIA in a kinder, gentler, more open light.

"Graham's enforcer was a symbol of a time they wished gone. I became a relic, a dinosaur from another era. No one wanted to be reminded of the past, so I was shunted aside, consigned to the bowels of Langley. Given a meaningless job until they could figure out how to get rid of me."

He nods, angrily. "So the goddamned CIA made you into what you were and then proceeded to punish you for being exactly that."

"Yes. That sums it up well."

"So being sent here..."

"Was a convenient way of getting me out their hair."

"And a make-work project, right? Babysitting the now useless former Intersect."

She flushes at his insight. "Yes. I'll admit it. That's what I thought when the director told me I was being assigned to you. I feared you might be a whiner, clinging to me, complaining about your lot in life."

He raises an eyebrow.

Hastily, she adds, "But I don't think that anymore."

"Why not?"

"On the way here, I reviewed the team's file, realized how much had been accomplished. I read between the lines, saw how you'd handled all the crap they dumped on you. How you went ahead and did the job with minimal complaint."

She grins. "And I talked to Casey. He told me how courageous you'd been."

He gapes. "He actually said that."

"Yes, Chuck, he did." She tilts her head, inquiringly. "You know he likes you, don't you?"

He flushes. "He never said anything, but, yeah, I sorta figured that out."

She smiles at his discomfort. "Not to say that you didn't surprise me tonight. You're a big boy, Chuck. You don't need a babysitter. Nor do you deserve to be handled.

"But maybe you could use another friend. Someone to help you through this transition." She pauses, suddenly a little unsure of herself. "And maybe you can help me, too."

"Help you, how?"

"I was informed that, at the end of a year, if I did this job well, I will be able to retire with full benefits."

"Retire? You're awfully young for that."

"I guess you could say it's the mileage, not the years."

He grins.

"What?"

"Another nerdy reference. I'll tell you later."

He brings the conversation back. "So, you're going through a transition as well?"

"Yes, I am. For better or worse, the CIA has been my whole adult life."

"What will you do after? When this assignment is over?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Not sure. That bridge is a ways off yet."

He nods, understandingly. "So, as far as the immediate future goes, aside from _not_ being my girlfriend, protecting me, and maybe being a friend, what other things are you here for?"

"I'll oversee the dismantling of Castle and various other tasks. But there's one other matter, a very important one we need to take care of."

"Which is?"

"ASAP, tomorrow, hopefully, we'll, that is Casey, you and I, will meet with Ellie, Devon, and Morgan."

"Huh? What for?"

She pauses, to make sure she has his attention. " _We're_ going to tell them what has _actually_ been going on in your life for the last couple of years.

He stares at her, wide-eyed, seemingly incapable of words.

Finally, he manages to ask, almost disbelievingly, "No more lies?"

She nods firmly. "No more lies. Some operational matters will have to be withheld, for reasons of security. But you'll be able to tell them the rest of it."

"God, Sarah. I've wanted to tell them for so long, but I never...never thought this day would come." He shakes his head, eyes wet. "Thank you, thank you so much."

"You're welcome, Chuck. You deserve this."

He grins. "It feels like this massive load's been taken off my shoulders. To be able to tell the truth...is...liberating."

 _I agree_.

She glances at her watch. "Chuck, it's getting late. If we're going to meet tomorrow, we should get some sleep. I've had a long day and I want to be at my best."

"Sure, Sarah. I'm tired too. It's been a big day." He pauses. "Ellie and Devon are off tomorrow. So is Morgan. And I can call in sick. Big Mike owes me quite a number of sick days. I'll arrange it. Say 10 am at my place?"

"Yes. That sounds good."

"It's a date, then." He blushes. "No, not a date. I didn't mean—"

She grins. "I understand what you meant, Chuck."

He grins back, relieved. "I just realized something. You're not the evil Terminator from the first movie, you're the good one from the second movie."

"Excuse me?"

He chuckles. "I know. Too nerdy. Another, 'explain later.'"

Lou chooses that moment to walk over.

"You guys done?"

They nod, simultaneously.

Sarah says, "Fantastic burger, Lou."

"Thank you, Sarah. I'm glad you like it here. Chuck usually comes here by himself, sometimes with Morgan. But never with a woman before."

Sarah glances his way, sees him looking down at the table.

"I guess I'm privileged."

Lou gives her a long look. "That you are."

She picks up the plates. "Meal's on the house. You two should head off to your respective beds. You both look tired."

"Thanks, Lou."

"Thank you."

...

After they exit Lou's Place, Sarah turns to him.

"You never brought Forrest here on one of you fake dates?"

"No, I didn't want to ruin it for me."

"Then why did you bring _me_? After you made it clear how you felt about me, her replacement?"

He squirms.

"I was angry. Frustrated. Disappointed. And I took it out on you. Without knowing you at all."

He pauses. "She used her sexuality like a…club. Blatant. Crude. And I'm ashamed that I didn't initially see that for what it was."

He hangs his head for a moment, then looks her way once more.

"However, you…you were different. I saw it right away, even though I was too angry to acknowledge it. But even as I was saying those ugly words to you, a part of me knew I was being horribly unfair…unkind. That you truly were deserving of a—"

"Second chance, Chuck?"

He grins. "Yes, Sarah. Exactly. And bringing you here was part apology, part test."

She raises an eyebrow. "Test?"

"To see if that part of me was right. To see if you…fit."

"And did I?" _Say yes, please._

"Yes. You definitely did."

He changes gears. "Sarah, I said something earlier. That I wouldn't have to pretend to like you."

She flinches inwardly at the memory. "Yes, I remember. You seemed happy about that."

"Yes, I was happy.

"And I still am. Happy that I don't have to pretend."

He smiles, shyly. "I like you, Sarah."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Next time we meet the whole gang. One of whom who will, especially, not be very pleased to find out what's really been going on in Chuck's life. I think you can guess who that might be. Thank you for all the kind reviews._

 _Until next time_.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: A great big thanks to all you nice people who've stuck with this story. Even with the extensive passage of time between chapters. (Usual real life issues.)_

 _A little Zettel (thank you) inspiration in the small first section._

 _Speaking of Zettel, I thank him for a number of suggestions to improve this chapter._

 _And thanks, of course, to my hard working beta, Michaelfmx, for his valued input._

 _Any errors you see are my responsibility._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Do this for fun and your comments._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Six: Explanations**

"I like you, Sarah."

 _I don't immediately reply._

 _Even though I want to._

 _Even though I do._

 _Like._

 _You._

 _But I can't tell you that, can I?_

 _I really can't._

 _Can I?_

…

"I like you too, Chuck."

His answering smile is the most beautiful thing she's seen for a very long time, brighter than the full moon rising over his right shoulder.

She can't stop herself from grinning, hugely, back at him.

But she's not sure how to proceed from here, and judging by his awkward silence after their mutual declaration, he's not certain, either.

After all, it's only been a few hours.

So, as they drive to Echo Park, they tacitly agree to keep their conversation focused on tomorrow's meeting. That way, neither have to address the elephant in the room, or the car, in this particular case. But after she drops him off and returns to the room at Maison 23, her reaction to him nags at her.

Not just to his words. No, her whole-body emotional response to _Charles Irving Bartowski._

It bothers her to the point that, despite her exhaustion after such a long and trying day, she has trouble falling asleep. She tosses and turns trying to find a comfortable position, before finally giving it up and simply staring at the ceiling, her thoughts a rapidly swirling jumble.

...

 _What the hell happened to me today?_

If she'd been disconcerted even before she'd walked through the doors of the Buy More (and she had been), meeting him had only made it that much worse.

The flirting had been genuine, springing spontaneously from someplace within her that she hadn't even known to exist. Definitely not trotted out from the place she stored the lessons drilled into her by her CIA instructors.

And though it had brought about a justifiable (but undesired) reaction on his part, she'd liked, really liked,the way she'd felt while she was doing it. Liked that she'd been able to joke around with him, enjoyed the slow smile on his face as he realized she was having him on.

It was…fun. And she's had very little fun the last couple of years. Her whole life, if truth be told.

 _I giggled. Like a schoolgirl. I didn't giggle_ _even_ _when I_ was _a schoolgirl._

 _Unless it was part of a con, of course._

 _And I liked the way he looked at me._

She can't remember the last time she'd felt anything but indifference, at best, or at worst, irritation, at a man's gaze.

 _Or a man's touch._

Even now, hours later, she swears she can still feel the warmth of his hand on hers.

His seemingly rapid about-face had thrown her for a loop. At first, she couldn't understand how he could go from such scathing, biting words to a humble apology within the span of a few hours. And yet, she'd never doubted his words in either case.

Then she'd seen it for what it was.

Honesty _._

A concept foreign to the world she's inhabited since she went on the road with her father.

" _Being honest paints you into a corner, darlin'. If you tell people the truth, even just a little bit, they'll measure whatever else you say against that truth. And if you try to con someone you've actually been honest with, they'll almost always see it. Then you're left with no way out. On the other hand, the appearance of honesty is the basis for every good con. And, darlin', you're great at appearances. Almost as good as me."_

She flinches at the memory of the youthful pride she'd felt at her father's compliment. A pride that gradually shrivelled and died as she began to realize just what they'd been doing on their cross-country adventures.

 _Chuck apologized to me. Even though he had every reason to treat me the way he initially did._

 _When's the last time anyone did that?_

Apologizing had never been in her father's playbook. Nor Graham's.

Or Bryce's.

" _Sarah, no matter what goes wrong, never admit it was your fault. Of course, you need to give the appearance that you're contrite, but, at the same time, you have to make sure your words, your reports, subtly shift the blame to the mission planners, your support team. Anyone but yourself."_

Her world, but clearly not Chuck's.

He'd told her things he'd never told anyone else. Candidly admitted his faults. His errors in judgment. With no agenda she could detect. And he'd done so eagerly, relieved that he could be truthful and open.

His natural state, she's certain. At least, it was. Until the government forced its way into his life.

 _Honesty begets honesty._

She'd heard that somewhere, but had never really experienced it until their…what?

 _Meeting_?

 _Date_?

 _Honestly?_

She's not certain.

Disarmed by his candor, she, in turn, had opened up to him. Told him things she'd never admitted to anyone else. Not even Carina.

 _I haven't lied to him. Even a little bit. I've never been on an assignment where I wasn't knee-deep in deception by this point. Even if it was only self-deception._

She shakes her head in wonder.

 _And I told him I liked him._

 _Honestly_.

 _Can't walk_ that _back, Sarah._

She tries to imagine acting that way, saying those words if this assignment had gone as originally planned, being the person she'd been then, but is unable to visualize herself doing so.

 _Different times._

 _Different me._

She consoles herself with the belief that getting along with Chuck will certainly make this assignment much easier and much more enjoyable.

 _Enjoyable? Where did_ that _come from?_

...

She'd finally fallen asleep. But not before setting an early alarm in order to be up in time to call the Major and inform him of the arrangement for the meeting. And the part he was expected to play in it.

Even over the phone, there'd been no trouble in sensing the man's reluctance but, in the end, he'd given her a crisp, "Roger that." They'd agreed to meet at his place before heading over.

So, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Sarah finds herself knocking at Major Casey's door. It opens.

"Good morning, Major."

He grunts. "Morning. Casey's fine, Walker."

She nods "OK. You ready to go?"

Sourly, he replies, "As ready as I'll ever be."

She nods, then steps back, allowing him to exit. He locks the door behind him and they head toward Ellie's apartment. As they do, Sarah notices that the place across the courtyard has a "For Rent" sign.

 _That could work._

"What did you think of Chuck? Did the two of you get along?"

The questions catch her off guard, her mind focused on the upcoming meeting. She stops and turns his way.

She hedges. "Get along?"

"Yeah, as in, did he tell you to go to hell when you walked in and told him who you were? Or…"

"He was…upset. After the store closed, we went and had a burger. I smoothed things over."

"That's good. Where'd you go?"

"Lou's Place."

"Seriously? He took you there?"

"Yeah."

"You know Lou was—"

"Yes, I know. He filled me in. He also told me that he never took Forrest there."

He regards her curiously for a few seconds. "Seems you smoothed things over pretty well, Walker. Good work."

"Thanks."

"You didn't tell me what you think of him."

She'd hoped he'd forgotten that part of his inquiry.

She hesitates. "I think we'll be able to work together. He seems like a good man."

Casey doesn't push, just nods. "He is. You tell him about my thoughts for the Intersect team?"

"No, I didn't bring it up. Thought we would cross that bridge if and when we need to. I got no indication that the Intersect is still functioning. He seemed very forthright about that."

"That he is."

Sarah glances at her watch. Grateful that she can change the subject before it goes down an uncomfortable path, she says, "Time for us to get in there." She's just about to knock on Ellie's door when she hears an unintelligible mutter from behind her.

She turns. Sees a few rivulets of sweat on his forehead. "What was that?"

He speaks up, just a little. "Into the valley of Death rode…"

"…the six hundred."

"You know the poem?"

"Yes. But it couldn't be _that_ bad, could it?"

He looks over her shoulder towards the apartment. "That woman…scares me."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Walker. I'll admit I'm afraid. You would be too, if you'd ever met Eleanor Faye Bartowski Woodcomb when she's on the warpath."

He shakes his head, scowls. "She's gonna be royally pissed."

Inwardly amused, but also with a sense of growing uneasiness, Sarah turns back to the door and knocks.

 _Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die._

 _Great, I would have to remember that line right now._

It only takes a couple of seconds before Chuck opens the door. Obviously, he'd been waiting for them. Anxiously, it seems. He looks nervous, apprehensive.

"Hi, Sarah. Casey. Come on in." He backs up while still holding the door, giving them enough room to enter.

As is her wont, Sarah quickly scans the interior, noting the layout. The personal touches.

 _I like it. Homey. Comfortable._

She then turns her attention to the people awaiting them.

Morgan stands off to one side.

Ellie and Devon are near the couch, standing side-by-side.

 _The file photos don't do the two of them justice._

Devon is clearly curious, but his expression is open, unguarded, friendly.

Ellie seems equally curious, but her eyes are wary, her expression guarded. Her smile is less sure, not quite full-blown.

Chuck does the introductions. "Ellie, Devon, this is Sarah Walker."

Sarah steps forward, offers her hand.

Devon takes it, shakes it vigorously. Smiles. "Good to meet you, Sarah."

Ellie's handshake is more reserved, cautious. "Nice to meet you, Sarah."

"Thank you. It's good to meet you, too."

Morgan pipes up, "Good to see you again, Sarah."

She smiles at him. "You too, Morgan."

Ellie asks, politely, "Would anyone like coffee?"

Sarah shakes her head. "Thanks, but I'm good."

Casey grunts. "Just had mine, thanks."

There's a murmur of negatives from the others.

Pleasantries seemingly aside, Ellie gets right down to business. "Sarah, I'm a little confused. Yesterday, Morgan told us he'd seen, his words, mind you, 'a smokin' hot blonde' named Sarah, holding Chuck's hand at the Buy More. It's clear he meant you."

Sarah flushes.

Ellie pauses. "And then, last night, Chuck tells me you've requested to meet with us. It all seems very strange. At first, I thought maybe you'd wanted to tell us that you two have been secretly dating, or some such.

"But then Chuck told me John and Morgan would be here as well, so that idea didn't seem to make any sense.

"So would you mind telling me, us, what this is all about?"

"You're right Ellie. It's nothing personal. Chuck and I only met for the first time yesterday."

Ellie nods, looking mildly disappointed. "I see. Then why _are_ you here, Sarah?"

"I think it would be good if you sat down."

"Sit down? I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Please. There are some serious matters that need to be discussed."

The woman appears to be unwilling, but then Devon takes her hand and gently leads her to the couch. They sit. Morgan joins them, maybe sitting a little closer to Ellie than necessary. Chuck takes the armchair. Meanwhile, Casey grabs a chair from the dining area and places it ten feet or so from the door.

After they are settled in, Sarah, still standing, begins.

"Before I say anything, I need you all to agree that what you're about to hear will not be repeated to anyone outside this group."

Devon responds, "I not sure I understand what you're asking."

Ellie and Morgan nod their agreement.

"If certain parties came into possession of this information, there could be serious repercussions. For the security of the country, but, more importantly, for yours and Chuck's personal safety."

All three on the couch look toward Chuck.

Ellie blurts out, "What is she talking about, Chuck?"

"Just agree, please. And listen, OK?"

It seems Ellie is about to fight him, but Chuck cuts her off.

"Sis, trust me, please. It's important."

She stares at her brother for a few long seconds then nods, choppily.

Looking back to Sarah, she replies, clearly against her inclinations, "OK, I agree."

Devon and Morgan follow suit.

"Yeah. OK."

"I agree."

Relieved that the situation is, at least, temporarily defused, Sarah continues, "John Casey and myself work for the Federal Government."

Morgan suddenly looks panicky. "Are you from the IRS? Because, if you are, I wasn't aware until recently that those free games are considered to be a taxable benefit."

She shakes her head. "No, Morgan, not from the IRS."

She pauses to take a deep breath.

" _Major_ John Casey is from the NSA. I work for the CIA."

For a few seconds, there's only stunned silence. Then a babble of overlapping voices.

"You're trying to tell me that you're spies…"

"What the…"

"I don't believe…"

Chuck speaks up in a strong voice. "Guys, calm down. She's telling you the truth."

The three of them look skeptical, even after his confirmation.

"There's more." Chuck looks Sarah's way. She nods. "Alexandra Forrest is also a CIA agent."

Their perplexed looks are largely replaced by ones of annoyance, disgust.

Ellie scowls, growls, "What the hell is going on here, Chuck? What possible interest could the CIA and NSA have in our lives? And why were you dating a CIA agent?"

He pleads, "Just listen to her, alright?"

It seems she's about to disagree, but, instead, turns back to Sarah. Her tone is angry, frustrated. "OK, _Agent Walker_ , please be so _kind_ as to fill us in."

 _Agent Walker. That stings._

 _Again._

Sarah takes another deep breath.

"Approximately two years ago, Chuck, with no intent or fault on his own part, came into possession of a...database...a massive, top-secret one known as the Intersect."

Ellie interrupts, "What do you mean, 'came into possession of'?

Sarah pauses, unsure if the three of them will be able to fully understand what she's about to say.

"A rogue agent sent the information Chuck's way in an e-mail. Upon opening that e-mail, the information, encoded in images was...downloaded...into his brain. Given the right circumstances, the information it contained became…accessible...to Chuck."

Morgan jumps in. "Come on, stuff like that can't happen! Life isn't a comic book!"

"I agree. Sounds like nonsense," adds Devon.

Ellie remains silent. Pensive. All turn to look at her.

Devon asks, "What are you thinking, babe?"

"I've heard rumors about that sort of thing. That it _might_ be possible. Even looked into it myself. A little. And there's Dad's notes…"

She looks towards her brother, silently asks the question.

"Yes, sis. That's what happened."

"Still?"

He shakes his head. "No, not anymore. But you need to hear the rest of the story before we go there."

She turns back to Sarah.

"OK, _Agent Walker_ , what happened then?"

"Casey and Forrest were sent by their respective agencies to retrieve the Intersect, as all other copies had been destroyed. They came, not knowing that Chuck had downloaded it and that the only copy of the e-mail had also been obliterated."

"You mean to tell me they didn't have any other copies of this Intersect thingy?" Morgan shakes his head, disgustedly adds, "Even a newbie knows you make backups."

Chuck replies, "Yeah, seemed weird to me as well. But then they told me what'd happened back in Washington." He looks at Sarah.

She picks up the thread once again. "The rogue agent—"

For the first time Casey speaks up, growls, "The traitor, you mean."

She nods his way, then continues, "—the traitor had blown up the Intersect computer after downloading the information to a portable device. In the resulting destruction, the backups were also ruined."

Ellie shakes her head, asks, "Why would someone do that? Why choose Chuck?"

Sarah stalls, knowing the answer to that question will certainly set the cat among the pigeons.

"You'll know...in a while. I promise. But right now I believe it would only distract us from the story we need to tell you. Is that OK with you?"

Again, the woman's reluctance is clear, but she curtly nods. "Go on."

"When it was discovered that Chuck not only had the data in his mind, but that he could also recover it, there was some thought given to placing him in a secure, isolated location. There, it was hoped, the information could be retrieved and used to aid in the fight against various organizations intent on overthrowing the current government."

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in. When they do, Ellie's face colors, but not with any of the gentler emotions.

Rage.

Pure.

Unadulterated.

Sarah had occasionally wondered what the phrase, "mad enough to spit nails", actually meant.

She wonders no longer. Swears she can hear Ellie's teeth actually gritting. The woman jumps to her feet.

Without conscious thought, Sarah takes a small step back.

She snarls, "You're telling me that the government was planning to throw Chuck in some godforsaken bunker and bleed him dry. Is that right, _Agent Walker_?"

Cowed, Sarah can only nod.

The brunette doctor turns her attention to the big man sitting near the door. Sarah sees him flinch.

"And you, _Major Casey._ That was your _brilliant_ idea? Kidnap him? Sever him from his family? His friends?"

Before he has a chance to answer, Ellie goes on, raging. "What were you planning to tell us? That he'd been killed in an accident or something? Or maybe you'd planned on being a goddamned coward and leave us hanging, wondering for years what'd happened-"

Chuck's stern voice cuts her off. "Ellie. Stop."

"Chuck—"

"No. You haven't got a clue what you're talking about. Maybe you could try being quiet for a while and let us explain what _actually_ did happen."

Ellie has the grace to look a little sheepish as she sits down beside her husband again. She shuts her mouth, but Sarah's certain that it's not the last they'll hear from the feisty physician.

Chuck turns his glare away from his sister long enough to look over to Sarah, who gives him a little nod.

He goes on determinedly, "It just so happens that it wasn't Casey's idea to put me in a bunker. It was Forrest's."

With a visible effort, Ellie manages to restrain herself. However, Devon decides it's time for him to jump in.

"The woman you wound up dating wanted to put you in a bunker? I don't get it, bro."

"It'll be clear in a few more minutes, Awesome. Please be patient." He turns to his friend. "You, too, Morg."

The bearded man nods. "OK. But I just want to say one thing, if it's alright?"

Chuck nods. "Go ahead."

"My best friend is in the spy world. Do you know how cool that is, Chuck?"

Shaking his head, Chuck glumly replies, "Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Not like the movies or the books."

Morgan's enthusiasm deflates, somewhat. "Still, it's pretty cool."

"Let's see if you agree after we tell you the rest of the story."

Chuck takes a deep breath. "I refused to go along with Forrest's idea. Forcefully. But the issue was in doubt until Casey came in on my side." He looks over to the Major. "You wanna take it from here, John?"

With a thank-you-very-much-glare, the big man stands. "Ellie, Devon. Yeah, I was on his side."

He takes a deep breath. "But the truth is that I'm no saint. We needed what Chuck had in his head. Badly. One way or another, our bosses demanded access to that data.

"But I had read Chuck's file, carefully. Knew how close he was to the three of you and just how important those relationships were to him. I suspected that he wouldn't function well if we threw him into a bunker somewhere. So I stood up to Forrest and told her how I felt. Got her to see that this was the only way things were going to work."

He shakes his head ruefully. "In the end, the position I took was simply the lesser of two evils. Neither choice was a good one. This one only hurt him, and you, maybe only a little less than the other one would've." He shrugs his shoulders. "Who knows? It may have made things worse. Perhaps if we'd thrown him into that bunker we coulda figured out how to retrieve the data and not put him through what's happened the last couple of years."

The big man sits down.

Ellie raises her hand.

Chuck acknowledges it. "Go ahead, sis."

Sarah can see the woman is doing her best to keep her voice level, to dampen the anger and frustration she's clearly still feeling. "Which is what, exactly? He talks about you functioning, like you're some sort of machine. What have you _gone through_ the past two years? Were Forrest and the Major just your bodyguards or what?"

She huffs. "And you _still_ haven't told us why you were dating a CIA agent."

"Patience, please." Chuck turns to Sarah. "Maybe you should tell this part of the story."

She nods. "Ellie, once it was decided the bunker was off the table, an agreement was reached. One where Chuck's abilities would be used in a different way.

"I mentioned that Chuck was capable of accessing the data in the Intersect. Sometimes a face, a word, a picture, or some such, would trigger something which came to be known as a 'flash'. He would then be able to recite the data he'd seen in that flash, intel that could be acted on."

Devon speaks up. "So they would feed you the stuff like that and then they could act on what you saw. Is that right, Chuck?"

"Yes...partly."

Ellie raises an eyebrow.

Sarah intervenes. "Due to various circumstances, Chuck wound up accompanying Casey and Forrest on quite a number of missions. Missions where his...participation...proved to be invaluable."

Devon blurts out, "You went on missions, Chuck? That's awesome."

Ellie glares at him.

He cringes a bit. "Maybe not so awesome."

Ellie shifts her attention to her brother. "What does she mean by that, Chuck? How exactly did you _participate_?"

He squirms in his seat. It's a few seconds before he replies. "Mostly, I was supposed to stay in the car when Casey and Forrest went after the bad guys." He hesitates. "But then I'd see stuff, Ellie. I knew that good people would get hurt if I didn't do something."

"Were you ever in any danger?"

"I was just trying to help."

"Answer the question. Were you ever in any danger?"

He hangs his head, quietly replies, "Yeah, a little bit, a few times." He lifts his head. "But it was mostly my own fault."

Ellie directs her glare towards the Major, appears to be ready to rip into him. But before she can say anything, Chuck jumps in.

"Don't blame Casey. He's saved my life more times than I can count."

 _Oh, no, Chuck. Not the right choice of words._

Sarah can see he immediately realizes that.

Ellie turns slowly back to her brother.

 _How does she do that? Remove every last trace of warmth from those eyes?_

There's a definite note of stridency in Ellie's voice. " _Saved your life_ , Chuck? More times than you can _count_?"

He flinches, then nods.

"More than a _little and a few,_ then, brother," she fumes.

"Yes." He hangs his head.

Greatly daring, Sarah steps in before Ellie can berate him further, firmly says, "The important point is that he's here now and he's OK. Wouldn't you agree, Ellie?"

Ellie takes a deep breath, appears to be ready to tee off on Sarah, when Devon grabs her hand. She looks his way. All he says is, "Babe. She's right."

Ellie huffs, then replies, grudgingly, "Yeah, I guess so." She glares once more at Chuck. "More. Later."

He doesn't say a word. Just nods choppily.

Sarah decides this is a good moment to shift the focus of the conversation.

"Ellie, you asked why Chuck was dating Agent Forrest."

The brown-haired doctor shifts her gaze. "Yes, I did."

"Both she and Casey needed a cover, one that plausibly allowed them to be near Chuck so they—"

"—could take him on those damn missions."

Sarah nods. "Yes, that was part of it. But they were also there to protect him."

Ellie frown is abruptly replaced by concern. "From what?"

"Those same groups I mentioned earlier started to get wind that the Intersect existed, and was a danger to them. Although they were never able to positively identify Chuck as the Intersect, there was always the threat they would."

"And if they _had_ identified him?"

Sarah chooses her words carefully. "They would've tried to remove him from the equation."

"Which is spy-speak for kill or capture." An assertion, not a question.

Sarah nods, reluctantly replies, "Yes."

Ellie looks at Chuck once more. "So you've been lying to us the whole time. About what you've been doing. How much danger you've been in. About Alex." An assertion once more.

He flushes, ears red. "Yes, Ellie. It was too dangerous for you to know the truth. If you had known and maybe inadvertently said or done something, they may have used you to get to me. I couldn't take the chance that you," he gestures to Devon and Morgan, "any of you, could be hurt because of my actions.

"But I hated doing it. Every time I stood there and lied, even though it was to protect you, I felt sick inside."

Ellie pins him with her glare for a few moments before saying, "Knowing you, Chuck, I can accept that. Or begin to. What I'm having much more difficulty accepting is the whole thing with Alex as your girlfriend. How could you bring her into our home? Your bed? When there was nothing between you? That's not you, Chuck."

"Ellie, she was never in my bed. At least not while I was in it. I slept on the floor when she stayed over."

"But, Chuck, the noises she made, the bed creaking."

"All her. Pretending. Laughing at you and Devon while she did it."

Devon, seeing the growing anger in his wife's face, intervenes. "Why did you settle on the girlfriend cover, Chuck? Why not go another direction? Workmate, like Casey? Or something else?"

"It's what Forrest insisted on, not me."

"Why? It was clear she didn't enjoy spending time with Ellie and me. Or Morgan. She must have known that pretending to be the girlfriend would require she be around us more."

"I've thought about it. Eventually, I realized it was her way of asserting her control. And simultaneously punishing me for fighting her on the bunker issue. This way she could make my life even more of living hell. Not only would I have to lie about the Intersect, but I would also have to lie about my personal life. Pretend in front of all of you that I cared about her. That we had a physical relationship. To rub it in my face that I wasn't allowed to have any sort of real relationship with someone I could truly care for."

His eyes shift briefly Sarah's way before returning to Ellie.

Sarah notices and sees that his sister does as well. Ellie looks her way, raises an eyebrow.

Sarah turns away. Looks at Devon, who asks, "Why the hell would you go along with it, Chuck?"

"I had no choice, Devon. She made...threats...to ensure my cooperation."

Devon, who had remained mostly calm up to this point, bristles at his explanation. "What do you mean, bro? Did she threaten to hurt you?"

Wearily, Chuck shakes his head. "No, Devon. She threatened to go after you and Morgan.

"And Ellie."

"After Ellie?" There's a rising note of anger in the man's voice. "How?"

Sarah answers, "She threatened to have Ellie's research grants taken away. And have you accused of sexual misconduct. Morgan of theft."

Ellie growls, "The bitch! Could she actually have done all that?"

Sarah shrugs. "Possibly. The head of the CIA at that time had considerable power and he was ruthless. Used to getting what he wanted. If she could've talked him into it, he could've done some serious damage to all of you."

Chuck speaks up. "I couldn't take the chance, Ellie. My life was pretty much a wreck, but I couldn't let her take you down with me." He shakes his head. "I just couldn't let that happen. I'm sorry."

For the first time in a while, Sarah can see sympathy in Ellie's expression, hear it in her voice. "No need to apologize, Chuck. You were just doing what you do best. Caring for the people you love. It wasn't your fault you got saddled with someone like her." She mutters, almost to herself, "Never could stand that... _that_ _woman_."

It's mystifying to Sarah how so much venom can be injected into two normally innocent little words.

Any residual sympathy evaporates, however, as the doctor shifts her attention Casey's way. "And what were you doing this whole time, John? Just sitting by and watching as that bitch dumped all this crap on my little brother?"

Casey flushes. "As time went on, I did what I could. But Forrest's boss had more pull than mine. We didn't have the clout to fight him on every issue. Had to choose our battles."

He looks at Chuck, then back to Ellie. "But knowing what I know now, I should've fought her harder. Should've tried to rein in her in more. I truly am sorry that I didn't."

Sarah, even with her brief acquaintance, can tell apologies don't come easily to the man. It seems Ellie can see that as well, for, when she speaks again, her voice loses some of its harshness.

"Yes, you should've, John."

She pauses. "But I haven't thanked you for saving my brother's life. Even though I hate the circumstances that led to you having to do that, I am grateful. It means more than I can express in words. Thank you."

Casey mumbles, "You're welcome."

Ellie, seemingly not wanting to embarrass the man any further, turns to Sarah and asks, "You said you'd tell us who sent the blasted thing Chuck's way?"

Sarah hesitates. "Bryce Larkin."

Morgan jumps in. "Bryce Larkin?! The same Bryce freaking Larkin who got Chuck kicked out of Stanford? The same Bryce Larkin who stole his girl?"

"Yes."

Ellie is grim. "You're telling me that he was an agent as well?"

"Yes. CIA."

All three stare incredulously, reduced to silence by this startling revelation.

Ellie speaks first. "Let me make sure I've got this right. Goddamned _Agent_ _Bryce Larkin_ ," she almost spits out the name, "the man who did everything he could to ruin my brother's life at Stanford, reaches out and somehow manages to dump this Intersect thing on Chuck? Bringing the unwelcome attention of both the CIA and NSA down on his head?"

"Yes, Ellie. That sums it up pretty well."

"Why would he send it Chuck's way?"

Casey replies, "We were unable to ascertain his motives with any degree of certainty. Chuck had scored very high on an image retention course at Stanford. Knowing this, and knowing we were closing in on him, Bryce possibly felt he could send it Chuck's way and then come and reclaim it later, in some fashion or another."

The brunette doctor turns to her brother. "Did you know this, Chuck?"

"Yeah, sis, I did. But there were a couple of things I only learned last night." He looks at Sarah.

Ellie turns her narrowed gaze upon Sarah. "And just what things were those, _Agent Walker_?"

Sarah swallows, then answers, "Bryce was shot while trying to flee the scene, he died shortly after sending the information Chuck's way."

Ellie nods, firmly. "Good. Saves me from having to go after him."

Devon grabs her hand. "Babe! That's harsh! The man is dead."

A small measure of contrition creeps into her reply. "You're right. I'm sorry he's dead." The cold steel returns. "But I'm not sorry he won't be able to ruin Chuck's life any more than he already has."

Devon looks as if he's going to take issue with that, but seeing the look on his wife's face, he wisely refrains.

Ellie asks, angrily, "What was the other thing?"

Sarah hesitates once more. "Bryce was my former partner."

"Partner?" Ellies ears perk up.

"Yes."

"What kind of partner?"

Sarah strives to keep her voice level. "We worked side by side on a number of missions."

Sarcasm dripping, Ellie asks, "Is that all, _Agent Walker_? Bryce was a good-looking guy, after all. I'd guess you were working _under_ him as well?"

The old Sarah would have slapped down, verbally at the very least, anyone who so rudely tried to intrude into her private life, supremely confident in herself and the choices she'd made.

But now, she finds herself at loss, blushing, as she stammers, "I…I…"

"ENOUGH!"

The room is shocked into silence. All turn to see Chuck, standing, rigid with anger, fists balled at his side.

"But, Chuck—"

"No buts! That's none of your damned business!"

"Maybe she was working with Bryce!"

"No, Ellie, she wasn't. Bryce's betrayal of Sarah was probably even worse than what he did to me."

"But—"

"You can go after me all you like, but Sarah had nothing to do with what happened here. Instead, she's doing all she can to clean up the mess that Forrest left behind. To help me get back the life I've lost. She deserves your respect, not your snide innuendos."

"Am I clear, Ellie?"

It's painfully obvious that Ellie is unused to this sort of vehement dressing-down from her sibling. She's visibly taken aback, but obstinately refuses to back down.

"What if she's lying to you, Chuck? That's what spies do. What if she has some hidden agenda we don't know about?"

Chuck shakes his head. "No. I trust her. End of discussion."

Sarah feels her cheeks suddenly warm along with her heart.

 _He trusts me. Enough to go up against his sister._

 _Don't blow it._

Ellie opens her mouth, but, before she can say a word, Chuck forestalls her, his voice stern, unyielding. "Tread carefully, sis.

"Sarah is a friend." He glances Casey's way. "And John, too. Not at first, but we gave each other a second chance.

"And you know how I feel about my friends, don't you Ellie?"

Ellie just nods, finally cowed into a measure of silence.

"Good. I'll trust you'll remember that in the future."

Chuck looks at Sarah. "Would you please tell us more about why you've been sent here?"

He sits down.

It takes a second or two to gather her thoughts. "Ellie, one of the main reasons I came here was to do exactly what we're doing right now. Clearing away the lies and confusion. To let the important people in Chuck's life know what's been going on and why.

"And to let Chuck move on with his life. With minimal interference from us. Chuck will no longer be forced to do anything he chooses not to do.

"You have my word on that, Ellie.

"Before you reply, I understand you have every reason to be suspicious of me. I hope that what I've, what we've, done here today will go some way to allaying those suspicions. All I ask is that you give me a chance to prove myself.

"Are you willing to do that?"

Ellie looks indecisive, and Sarah fears she hasn't gotten through to her. But then, surprisingly, the woman nods decisively.

"Yes, I'll try. You do deserve that much."

She pauses, blushing. "I know I've been difficult. It's just that I love my brother so much. And I hate what they, what _she,_ did to him."

"I agree. I made it clear, forcefully, to Forrest what I thought of the role she'd played here. And that any further interference in Chuck's life would not be tolerated." Sarah can hear, in her tone of voice, the residual anger from that confrontation.

Ellie's surprise is plain. She studies Sarah for a long moment. "You know what, Sarah Walker? I believe you. Is that why she didn't show up here today?"

"No, not really. She'd already maneuvered matters to obtain a more favorable posting. She left yesterday."

Casey speaks up, disgust in every syllable. "In other words, she couldn't wait to get the hell out of here once we concluded the Intersect was no longer functioning. And she could no longer use it to advance her career."

"Yet, you're still here," states Devon.

Sarah replies, "Colonel Casey is staying on for a while to assist me with the dismantling of the operation. I'll be staying on after we accomplish that."

Ellie asks, not unkindly, "Why, Sarah? What would there be for you to do?"

"While we feel, with the Intersect gone, there's no significant threat to Chuck's safety, I will be here for the next year to watch over him purely as a precautionary measure.

"Obviously, we can't broadcast that I work for the CIA. It would attract unwanted attention, so I will need to establish a cover."

She gestures behind her. "I noticed the place across the courtyard is available. I'll be taking it. I've been thinking of a cover as a fitness/self-defense instructor just moved in from San Diego, here to open up a new business. The Orange Orange in the Buy More mall has been shut down, so I could use that space."

Morgan is squirming in his seat. Sarah smiles. "Before you ask, yes. The Orange Orange was a front for this operation."

"I knew it! No way that place coulda stayed open otherwise. Always had the weirdest hours."

Sarah continues, "With me living in the building, a developing friendship between Chuck and myself will come across as more natural and spontaneous. Allowing us to spend time together without arousing suspicion."

Giving Ellie a long look, Sarah adds, with a smile, "And I think _we_ could be friends, Ellie. If you're willing to give it a chance."

Ellie gives her an equally long look in return. Smiles, just a little. "You may be right, Sarah. But I'll need some time."

"That's all I ask."

Chuck, who'd been observing the interaction with a smile of his own, stands and addresses the group, "I think that's enough for this morning. Sarah and Casey have things to do."

Ellie asks, "You know there's a lot more we need to know, Chuck?" Devon and Morgan nod their heads in agreement.

"No problem, guys. After I see our guests out, I'll come back in and we can discuss whatever you want. OK?"

"OK."

Everyone stands and shuffles toward the door.

Casey is first out, but not before both Devon and Morgan shake his hand and thank him for coming.

Ellie approaches Sarah, stops a couple of feet away. Sarah is about to offer her hand when abruptly, she finds herself engulfed in an almost bone-crushing hug from the brunette doctor.

Sarah's unsure how to respond, her arms hanging limply at her side. Over Ellie's shoulder, she sees Chuck smirking at her.

Ellie whispers, "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch, Sarah. But you've have to understand. He and Devon are all I have."

Sarah moves her arms, tentatively returns the hug. She whispers back, "I do understand. And I promise I'm here to take care of him, not to hurt him any further."

"I believe you."

Ellie steps back, smiling. "Thank you for coming. And for all you've done here today. For giving him another chance."

"You're welcome, Ellie."

…

Once outside the closed apartment door, Chuck blurts out, "Whew! That went better than I thought it would."

Casey nods, replies, "You're right there, Bartowski. Seems we caught Ellie on a good day."

Sarah blinks in surprise. "You're trying to tell me _that_ was a _good_ day?"

Chuck, replies, chuckling, "Nobody lost a body part and there wasn't any bloodshed, so, yeah, it was."

Casey grunts his agreement. "You need me here? If not, I'll head off to my place."

Sarah answers. "No, we're good. I'll contact you later this afternoon."

"Sounds good."

Sarah and Chuck watch him head off to his apartment.

Chuck speaks, quietly, sincerely. "Sarah, thank you so much for what you've done here. Ellie and I can start the healing process now. It feels so good that I won't have to lie to her and them, anymore."

"I didn't do anything special, Chuck. Just what was right and proper."

"Well, right and proper have been severely lacking in my life the last couple of years, so I will thank you. Again."

"You're welcome."

He looks at her, smiling. "Ellie likes you, you know."

Surprised, Sarah replies, "She does? How can you tell?"

"She hugged you. A genuine, full-blown Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb hug, mind you. Not the fake, polite one she gave Forrest once or twice."

Sarah smiles. "Guess I'm privileged."

"That you are." He looks back toward the door. "Well, I guess I'd better get back in there. I'm gonna get raked over the coals for a while yet."

He quickly assures her, "Don't worry, I won't talk about the stuff you said had to remain quiet. I'll just tell them there are certain subjects that are off limits."

"Good."

He hesitates. "You free later? For dinner?"

"Yes. What did you have in mind?"

"There's a Mexican place I like. They make a mean Margarita. Think I might need one after the three of them are finished with me."

Sarah chuckles. "OK, sounds good. Pick you up at seven?"

"Great! Dress casual."

For a moment, it looks as if he, too, is going to give her a hug, but, instead, holds out his hand.

She takes it, the tingling warmth of his grasp flowing up her arm once more.

"Until later, Sarah."

She nods. "Later."

He releases her hand, turns to the door.

Her voice is small. "Chuck."

He turns back to face her, his expression inquisitive.

She looks up into his eyes. "Thank you."

He returns her look for a second or two, then quietly replies, "For what, Sarah?"

"You stood up for me."

"Hey, that's what friends do for each other."

She hesitates, suddenly feeling shy. "I haven't had one of those for a...while. Anyone willing to do what you did."

He doesn't press her, just earnestly says, "Well, you've got one now. And unless I'm way off the mark, there's a woman in there," he points his thumb back toward the apartment, "who'll soon be joining me as one of Sarah Walker's friends."

He pauses. "The first of many, I'm sure."

She blinks back her tears. Unable to voice the depth of her appreciation, she just nods.

It's obvious she's not as good at hiding her emotions as she once was, for he quickly leans in, places his hands lightly on her shoulders, and gently, reassuringly kisses her cheek.

"See you later, friend."

He doesn't see the resulting blush, doesn't see her press her hand, wonderingly, to her kissed cheek. All because he rapidly turns, reaches for the doorknob, straightens his shoulders and mutters, "Into the Valley of Death…"

Even through her now overflowing tears, she can't hold back her grin.

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: All the main characters are now in place. Introductions are done. On with the story._

 _Worked hard to get the voices right. (Part of the reason it took so long.) Hope they came across as intended. Clearly, Chuck is a little bolder, more forceful than he's often portrayed. Figure a couple of years dealing with the spy world (and Forrest. Boo, hiss.) would change him, at least somewhat, from what we saw in often saw in canon._

 _Most of us really like Ellie's character, myself included. But there were times she pushed the whole opinionated interference thing pretty hard. A little slap down wouldn't have hurt._

 _Feel free to review or comment. Even if there's something you don't like._

 _WvonB_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Appears that once a month may be the best I'm going to manage. Thanks to all who continue to follow along. Feel free to leave reviews._

 _Thanks to Zettel and Grayroc (I've met both of them now, in the flesh. A very stimulating, most enjoyable time was had by all.) for their encouragement and thoughts. And, of course, the continued support of my beta, Michaelfmx._

 _Any errors you see are the responsibility of the writer._

 _A little more backstory for Sarah. Some canonish moments._

 _Don't own Chuck et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Seven: Giving**

Sarah sits in the driver's seat of her Explorer, leaning her forehead on the steering wheel, her eyes closed.

 _What have I let myself in for?_

She remembers the time she'd traversed five miles of rotting jungle with a twenty-pound pack on her back. How, on another occasion, she'd swum two miles through shark populated waters to a remote private island. And the time she'd scaled a sheer rock face during a winter snow storm. She's done all those things, and many more, in order to carry out the often profoundly distasteful tasks Graham had assigned her, but never has she felt quite so drained as she does right now.

 _And all I've done is talk._

Thinking back, she's quite certain she's gone entire weeks, _months_ , without using as many words as she has in the past twenty-four hours.

But she knows that's words are not the sole reason for her current state of mind.

 _I'd forgotten people could...feel..so strongly. So vehemently. About anything. Or anyone._

 _And that I could feel the same._

…

Preoccupied with her rehabilitation, it wasn't until her return to Langley that Sarah had realized that her career had flatlined. Banished and embittered, her own taciturn, introverted nature had taken care of the rest, pretty much guaranteeing that her private life would follow suit.

She had continued to take care of herself, more out of habit than anything else. So, on those times that necessity required her to leave her cubbyhole of an office and travel the sparsely-populated lengths of pipe-lined corridors, she'd been noticed by the few men who had occasion to be in her area.

She'd felt, and ignored their frank, appraising stares, but had also sensed their puzzlement as they wondered who she was, and why someone who looked like her was so isolated from the main-stream.

One day, as she'd been leaving work behind, she'd overheard two men talking about a seldom seen, almost mythical, mysterious beauty inhabiting the corridors of Langley's sub-basements, had known they were speaking of her.

It was about then that the trickle turned into a small torrent of male agents who manufactured some reason or other to be in or around her office.

The less savvy ones had approached her and asked her out, unaware, at least initially, that they were potentially attaching themselves to someone whose star was definitely not in the ascendant. Others, whose idea of _attachment_ was of a far more temporary and much more carnal nature, had also vied for her attention.

Neither group had ever had the slightest chance of succeeding. The very last thing she'd wanted in her life was a pale imitation of Bryce Larkin (assuming it was even possible to be a pale imitation of a man who had been nothing but a pale imitation himself) so had turned them all down.

Tersely. Firmly.

The result was that, as word got out, both of her diminished stature and her repeated, increasingly cold and blunt rebuffs, they stopped coming, stopped asking.

(She'd also suspected that, as details of her life in the CIA leaked out, there may have also been a measure of physical fear of what she might do if they pushed too much.)

Carina had been somewhere on a deep, long-term undercover mission. So even their sporadic communication had come to a halt. Completely isolated once more, her life thereafter had settled into a dull, aimless pattern.

Sleep. Eat. Work. Eat. Read. TV. Sleep.

Repeat.

Gradually, almost without her realizing it, nothing meant much anymore. No highs. No lows. Flat, stretching off to a featureless horizon that never varied as the weeks and months slipped by.

Eventually, she'd surrendered herself to that existence. Convinced herself that she was at peace with it.

And so she'd slipped into the quiet. The darkness.

Waiting for the day the CIA would be done with her.

The life of Agent Sarah Walker.

…

 _Some life._

 _I gave up. Let myself die. Presided over my own funeral. Bore myself to my own grave._

 _Peace and quiet?_

 _That's a sick joke._

 _Only quiet because I said nothing, thought nothing, did nothing._

 _And peace?_

 _Resignation, yes. Capitulation, yes._

 _But never any peace. Not really. I know that now._

The truce she'd made with herself was nothing but a self-deceptive fallacy, shattered by the single day she's spent in Burbank.

 _Never again, Sarah. Never again._

She raises her head from the steering wheel feeling an odd mixture of anger and gratitude.

Angry at herself for that spiritless acceptance of her mind-numbing, so-called life back in D.C. And for the years she threw away.

Grateful that Alexandra Forrest had mucked up this assignment so badly. Otherwise, she would never have been sent out here. Might've never gotten the boot up her ass she so desperately needed.

The chance to start caring, to start living once again.

Casey. Forrest. Ellie. Each, in their own way, part of the butt-kicking brigade.

But especially Chuck. In just a few short hours he'd given her something to live for. Something worth fighting for.

A good man. A brave man. A worthy man.

She looks at her watch. _With whom I have I date within the next few hours._

 _Just as a friend, of course._

A little voice nags at her, telling her she's fooling herself, but she pushes it away.

Refocuses.

 _I've got a lot to do before then._

Determinedly, she sits back, buckles herself in and takes out her phone. She'd automatically memorized the number on the For Rent sign, so calls it now. After making an appointment with the property management company, she starts the car. After punching in the address she'd been given, she eases the vehicle out of the parking spot.

As she drives, she muses over the encounter with Chuck's sister.

Casey's earlier apprehensions are certainly more understandable now.

 _How had he put it?_

 _Royally pissed._

Succinct. Very Casey-like, she suspects.

 _And very, very accurate._

The woman had been willing, no, _eager_ to take on all comers. Anyone who _had_ been a threat to her brother's well-being (Forrest, Casey) or who _might_ be a threat (Sarah) was fair game. Targets for her fierce protectiveness.

It was just as well that Forrest _hadn't_ shown up this morning. If she had, Sarah's almost certain the two women would've come to blows. Honestly, she's not completely certain that Forrest, even with her training, would've won that contest. And if they'd told Chuck's sister that the woman had tried to eliminate him, Sarah's fairly certain the room would've witnessed, at the very least, an attempted murder.

But Sarah could hardly fault Ellie for that.

 _How can I when I feel the same way?_

…

The older, grey-haired man takes one last careful look at the contract on the desk before him.

"Thank you, Ms. Walker. That should do it." He hands her two sets of keys. "You're sure you don't need to check out the apartment before taking possession?"

"No, I'm fine. The photos looked good. And I've had the chance to see a couple of the other units. If this one is up to those standards, I'm certain I'll like it."

He nods, smiles kindly. "I assure you it is. Our cleaners have just finished today. Minor repairs and painting will take a couple more days. You have a place to stay until then?"

The thought of remaining in that awful green room, even for a few days more, mildly repels her, but she nods. "Yes. I do."

"Good. Then there's just the matter of the damage deposit and the first month's rent."

"Of course." She opens her wallet and starts to reach for the credit card supplied to her by the CIA, but stops. Instead, she takes her own personal card and hands it to the man.

 _My place. Not theirs._

"Thank you." He stands and takes the card to the desk of his assistant who processes it quickly and then hands it back to him.

Walking back, he gives the card and a receipt to Sarah, then holds out his hand. "Welcome to Los Angeles, Ms. Walker."

She shakes it, briefly. "Thank you, Mr. O'Connell ."

Sarah starts to turn toward the door, but stops herself.

"Just one more thing."

"Yes?"

"I would like it painted in bright, pastel colors. Nothing dark."

"Any specific preferences?"

Sarah suddenly realizes she has no idea of how to decorate a place. Aside from her pitiful efforts as a child, she's never had to think of it before

She shakes her head."No. Nothing too garish, of course."

He nods. "Of course."

"But no green. Definitely, _no_ green."

He looks curious, but simply nods once more. "We'll take care of it, Ms. Walker."

"Thank you."

…

The office is on the second floor of a large mall, so, as she heads back to her car, she passes by a number of women's clothing stores.

 _I'm gonna need some more clothes. Can't wait until they get around to shipping my stuff out here._

She stops before one window. Notices a mannequin displaying a blue blouse with little buttons.

 _I think Chuck would like that._

She shakes her head.

 _Get ahold of yourself, girl. Since when do you buy clothes based on the idea of someone else's approval?_

 _I like it because it'll set off my eyes, nothing more._

She purchases it. With her own credit card.

…

A good portion of the afternoon is spent at the local CIA office arranging for the conversion of the former Orange Orange into her new cover business. At first, the woman in the Logistical Support Section balks at her request, so Sarah asks her to contact Langley directly. While Sarah's not exactly been given carte blanche for this assignment, it seems that the powers that be are willing to expedite matters in order to make sure she doesn't have any thought of a return to D.C. The approval is given quickly. She's told they'll need a week.

Sarah politely thanks the woman and returns to her vehicle. She then calls Casey to keep him up to date with developments.

Things having gone better than expected, Sarah suddenly finds herself at loose ends. Seeing a large furniture store coming up on her right, she pulls into the parking lot.

 _I'm going to need some._

She wanders through the display area. At first, an eager salesman focused on his potential commission (and likely on her as well), follows her closely. Until she turns to glare, pure ice, at him. He then retreats quickly, mumbling about some other place he needs to be.

 _Good to know that still works._

But after looking over the almost dizzying multitude of styles, Sarah finds herself no further ahead.

 _I have no idea what I want. What suits me._

She thinks back to Ellie's place, how she liked it at first glance.

 _I'll have to ask her for advice. Could be a good icebreaker._

She walks out, leaving the disappointed looking salesman behind.

…

It seems her first thought about the blue blouse was correct, for when Chuck opens the door at her knock, he can't seem to find any words. Instead, he just stands there immobile, staring, not impolitely, for a handful of seconds.

Finally finding his voice, he smiles widely and says, "Wow! Sarah, you look incredible. That blouse looks amazing on you. It really brings out your eyes." He stops, flushes, seemingly embarrassed by his transparent admiration.

She smiles back. "Thank you, Chuck. I'm happy you like it."

Truth is, she's _very_ glad he likes the way she looks.

She'd been more excited during her preparation for this evening than she recalled having ever been with Bryce.

In the end, she'd opted for only the barest touch of makeup. She had worried a bit about her hair, trying a few different styles, but in the end had chosen to leave it down, softly curled, as it was last night. Her new jeans, while not being ridiculously tight, set off her long legs to advantage. The night being reasonably warm, she'd left her jacket in the car, allowing him to appreciate the full effect of the blouse.

Looking him up and down, she notes the dark jeans, the black shirt and, of course, his chucks.

"You look good, too."

He flushes at her praise. "You can thank Ellie. She was…excited…to help me pick out what to wear after I told her I was taking you out to dinner."

 _There's that honesty again. How many men would admit their sister helped them to decide what to wear?_

He glances down at his feet. Grins. "Except for the shoes. Had to fight her on that one."

She grins toothily back. Reaches up and brushes a tiny piece of lint off his shoulder. "Well, she may have helped you pick the clothes, but you're the one making them look good, Chuck. And I like the shoes."

He flushes even more. "Thank you, Sarah." He glances over his shoulder, stage whispers, "We should get going. I get the feeling she's listening in on us exchanging compliments."

From somewhere back in the apartment, they hear Ellie's voice. "I heard that, Chuck."

Closing the door behind him, he offers Sarah his arm. Taking it, the two of them walk, laughing, to her vehicle.

…

The restaurant, with its somewhat cheesy Mexican decor and traditional Mariachi group, hovers dangerously close to being a monument to kitsch, but Sarah doesn't mind. In fact, she's enjoying herself more than any time in recent memory. Or even non-recent memory.

Certainly, the food passing by them looks and smells good, whetting her appetite. And the Margaritas (as Chuck had said) are excellent. But, while both are factors, the main reason for her enjoyment is the man sitting across the table from her.

The tired Chuck. The angry Chuck. The resigned Chuck. All those Chucks, the Chucks of last night have vanished, almost as if they never were. This Chuck sitting across from her is a man seemingly reborn, given a new lease on life.

Energetic. Funny. Relaxed. Even though the afternoon's interrogation session must have been, in many ways, quite trying, none of it shows in his words or in those lovely brown eyes.

He's happy. Truly happy for probably the first time since the cursed Intersect was brutally inserted into his mind and his life.

 _And I'm happy. Why?_

It takes no more than a moment's thought.

 _I'm happy because he's happy._

For almost as long as she can remember, Sarah has been taught to be the custodian of her own emotions, repeatedly warned that genuinely responding to the feelings of others may not only lead to failure (bad enough in itself), but that doing so could also place her in serious danger.

Looking back, she's certain that embracing that idea, on both their parts, had been a major reason why there never had been anything of real consequence between her and Bryce. How could there be, without any real effort to empathize with what the other was experiencing, good or bad?

But no longer. It appears the dam she'd patiently built to contain her feelings, one weakened by the last couple of miserable years, has finally collapsed.

 _There's more happiness in giving than receiving._ Sarah had heard that before, but hadn't really understood it until meeting Chuck.

Her father's unofficial motto had always been more of a take what you can get kind of thing. Then try and take some more. Giving of himself, even to her, had never been high on his list of priorities. And, even when he did, it'd all seemed somewhat perfunctory, a duty to be carried out, with no real meaning behind it.

It was scarcely any different with Bryce. Each took what they wanted from the relationship while giving very little of themselves back. Constant withdrawals, but very few deposits.

But not with Chuck. Even though she honestly feels _her_ part in what happened today wasn't all that critical, it made her feel good that she was able to give what she could. To play her part in freeing him from a life rife with deception.

To let him be who he really is.

This engaging, charming man with whom she's privileged to be sharing a table.

…

She takes a sip of her drink. "Chuck, I'm curious. Why did you call Devon, 'Awesome'? Aside from his tendency to use that word, I mean."

"Did I? When?"

"This morning. When you asked him and Morgan to be patient."

He's embarrassed. "You're right. I did. I'm glad Ellie didn't seem to notice. She hates it when I call him that. Even more when I call him _Captain_ Awesome."

Sarah laughs outright. "Captain Awesome?"

He chuckles in turn. "Yup. Like a superhero. He's got this physique like some Greek god, which, by the way, comes not only from working out, a lot, but also from these truly nauseating health-food drinks he whips up." He grins conspiratorially at her. "Sooner or later, the more you hang around our place, he's going to offer you one. When he does, I strongly suggest you tell him you have an acute algae allergy."

She grins. "Come on, Chuck. They can't be that bad."

He shudders, dramatically. She laughs again.

"Trust me. If he offers you any sort of green liquid, run! Run like your life depends on it. Which it does."

She shakes her head, smiling. "Is that it, just the physique thing?"

"No, no. There's more. Much more. The man is absolutely fearless. He could be the poster boy for extreme sports. Skydiving, river rafting, rock climbing. You name it, he's done it. Perfectly.

"But the most courageous thing he's ever done is take on my sister. You've seen what she can be like. She's family, so I didn't have any choice, but he voluntarily entered into a relationship with her. The man had to be nuts."

Sarah has no trouble seeing, despite the words, his deep, abiding love for Ellie and his brother-in-law.

She reaches over, places her hand gently on his. "He sounds like a great guy."

Chuck's suddenly serious. "That he is, Sarah. He really loves Ellie. Would never stray." He pauses. "I'm sure he'd be willing to die for her if that's what it took to keep her safe."

 _I wonder what it would be like to have someone feel that way about me?_

His quiet words interrupt her thoughts.

"He's the bravest man I know. Well, him and Casey." She can hear the note of envy in his voice.

 _No, Chuck. You're wrong there._

She looks him in the eye. "You know, Chuck, you're pretty brave yourself."

He waves it off with a self-deprecating smile. "You only think that because you haven't heard my girlish screams in the face of danger."

She shakes her head. "No, Chuck. None of that. I know better. Remember, I've spoken with Casey."

He glances down at the table. "I really wasn't that brave, Sarah."

Sarah's unused to genuine modesty. Bryce had tried out the, "aw, shucks, ma'am" routine a couple of times when they'd first been assigned as partners. She hadn't bought it, knowing full well his reputation as an agent who'd always made sure that _everyone_ knew, at least in the general sense, of his accomplishments.

But not Chuck Bartowski; the spokesman for hiding one's light under a basket.

"So, disarming the bomb at the hotel wasn't brave?

"Sarah, I had to do it. If I'd done nothing a lot of innocent people would've died."

"So, you're trying to tell me that running _towards_ a bomb because you _had_ to do it somehow makes what you did _not_ an act of courage?"

He gapes at her, appears to be stumped. "No. Yes. I…I'm not sure."

"And you're also saying it wasn't courageous when you left the car all those times to help out Casey? And Forrest, a woman whom you don't even like?"

"She's still a person, Sarah. She didn't deserve to get hurt. Or worse."

Slightly shamed by her strong antipathy towards the woman, she agrees. "You're right, Chuck."

Sarah squeezes his hand. "Chuck, I could go on and on, but I won't. Instead, I'm going to ask you to think about what I'm about to say. Objectively, if you can."

"I'll try."

"Good. Chuck, if you'd heard about a man who'd done all the things you've done for others, all the lives you've helped save, who'd put himself in harm's way again and again to help good people, what would you think of such person?"

"Sarah, I know where you going with this, but it's not the same thing."

"Give me one good reason why it isn't, Chuck."

He looks away, doesn't answer.

"I'm waiting, Chuck."

He snaps back, shame in his eyes. "Because I was scared crapless pretty much the whole time I was doing all that stuff. I know it may have sounded like I was joking, but I really meant the thing about the girlish screams."

She replies flatly, "Is that it?"

"What do you mean, 'Is that it?'"

"Just like it sounds. If that's all you got, I'll have to say it isn't nearly enough to convince me that Chuck Bartowski has ever been a coward."

"Sarah, I hope this isn't the point where you give me the whole cliched, 'Son, I'm always scared before I go into battle. It's nothing to be ashamed of,' speech."

"No, Chuck, I won't. I can honestly say that I've rarely ever been afraid while on a mission. Cautious, yes, but rarely afraid."

"And this is supposed to make me feel better, how?"

"It should. Remember, I've spent years training and preparing for situations like you've faced. I considered all the ways things could go wrong and practiced over and over how to respond when they do. You, on the other, had no training of any sort. You were thrown in the deep end with no warning or preparation.

"The point is, afraid or not, you still got the job done. That's what counts, not how you felt while you did so. You did what was asked of you, and well beyond. Without faltering."

She gives him a little grin to ease the seriousness of their conversation. "So you see, in the end, your girlish screams meant nothing."

He's wavering, but not quite convinced.

"Chuck, you said Devon would be willing to die for Ellie, right?"

He nods. "I'm sure of it."

"Then here's the question. Would you?"

There's no hesitation. "Yes. In a heartbeat."

Sarah hears the passion in her voice, but doesn't try to tone it down. "Don't you see, Chuck? That's _real_ courage. _Real_ love. The willingness to give up your life for someone else. It's not how many times you jump out of an airplane, or scale a rock-face. Or take down some bad guy."

He looks at, wonderingly. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Damn right I do. And so should you."

He sits up straighter. "I'll try, Sarah."

"Promise?"

Nodding, he replies, "Promise."

He squeezes her hand, earnestly says, "Thank you, Sarah. I've never had it laid out quite that way before."

"Hey, that's what friends do for each other, right?"

Hearing his own words echoed back to him, he grins and says, "Yes, Sarah. It is."

At that moment their food arrives. And as they eat and drink, they tacitly agree to move on to lighter topics of conversation.

He starts to tell her about Morgan.

...

Her fork halfway to her mouth, Sarah stops, gapes at him. "Tell me you're not serious, Chuck!"

"Nope. Deadly serious.

"Morgan _actually_ took Ellie's _pillow_ to the junior prom?"

"Yep. He was, to put it mildly, fixated on my sister."

"How? Did she somehow encourage him?"

"No, not unless repeatedly telling him how much she loathed him worked as some sort of reverse psychology."

Sarah stops, trying to imagine a young Morgan Grimes (Beardless? She'll have to ask) pursuing an older and much taller Ellie Bartowski.

She puts her fork down, shakes her head. "What did he do with the pillow?"

He smirks. "He had a photo of Ellie silkscreened onto a pillowcase which he used to place over hers."

"No!"

"Yes. Then he'd propped it up on the chair beside, with his arm around it. Later he danced a couple of slow dances with it held tightly against him. Of course, I only learned of these disturbing details after my late arrival."

She puts her hand over mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh, my god. I can only imagine with the other kids thought of him."

He chuckles. "I didn't have to imagine. Everyone knew he was my friend so told me what they thought of him, quite candidly. Usually, I defended him, but this time he was on his own. When I found out what he'd done, I put a stop to it, made him take her pillow back, right then and there." He pauses, thinking. "I believe she burned it."

"Did he embarrass you a lot?"

"Yeah, he did. But I love the guy. Besides, having Morgan Grimes as a friend had no negative impact on my status in school." He pauses, gives her a serious look. "You should be aware that I wasn't always the suave lady-killer you see before you today. In fact, as hard as it may be for you to believe, I was considered to be a bit of a nerd, definitely not part of the cool crowd. An outsider."

He grins in response to her amused snort, but Sarah's almost certain there's a touch of ruefulness in his eyes.

"But what about you, Sarah Walker? I'd imagine your prom experience was much more pleasant. I'd guess you needed a pretty big stick."

"Stick?"

"You know, to beat off all the boys wanting to dance with you. Or just be around you."

Sarah doesn't answer right away, instead takes a sip from her second (and last) Margarita in order to give herself a few seconds to think.

She's tempted to laugh it off, give him some sort of vague answer and move on.

 _No. I won't do that. Not any more._

"Chuck, I never attended my prom."

He's surprised. "Why?"

"Mainly because no one asked me."

"Excuse me. I'm not sure I heard you correctly. Did you say no one asked you?"

"Yes."

He shakes his head, clearly confused. "Were all the boys in your school total idiots? Or blind? It must have been one of the two, otherwise, it makes no sense."

She's increasingly embarrassed by his well-meaning inquires. However, she knows he means well, so patiently replies.

"Chuck, I went through an awkward phase in high school. Braces, bad hair, you name it. You would never have even noticed me."

It seems he finally realizes he's been putting her on the spot.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. It's clear that Ellie's not the only member of my family who sticks their nose in where it doesn't belong."

"It's OK, Chuck. Just one of those times in my life I don't like to talk about too much."

"I'm with you there. Got more than enough of those myself."

He pauses. "I think you're wrong about one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"I hope this doesn't sound as if I'm giving myself too much credit, but believe I _would_ have noticed you."

"Why, Chuck?"

He captures her eyes with his. "Because there's a quality, a...beauty...in you that I don't think all the bad hair and braces in the world could ever truly conceal. A beauty that time," he pauses, "and...events...have been unable to erase. I believe I would've seen that, would've offered to be your friend. And been proud to have you as mine. As I am right now, right here."

His soft-spoken, gentle words are the kindest, most perceptive ones that anyone has ever said to her. She swallows heavily, feels the immediate sting of tears.

Sarah slides over, lurches to her feet, manages to choke out, "Excuse me. I have to use the washroom. I'll be right back."

She manages to blink back the tears during the short walk to the back of the restaurant. Fortunately, there's a box of tissues beside the sink. Equally as fortunate, there's no one else in the washroom to see her cry.

She grabs a few tissues to take up the freely flowing tears. After a couple more minutes she looks in the mirror, tries to dab away the damage done. She looks long and hard at her image, trying to find in the reflection what he saw in her, but is unable to do so.

 _What is he seeing?_

She's been told she's beautiful more times then she can remember. By men eager to spend time with her. By men who'd believed, mistakenly, those words would be the tipping point, the final nudge needed to get her into their bed.

Intellectually, she could look in the mirror and see what they saw. What the CIA had created. A physical beauty far above the norm. But, as the mission count had mounted (and the body count along with it), she'd looked in her mental mirror and seen something else.

 _A whitewashed grave, full of dead men's bones._

She first heard the verse courtesy of one of her father's cons. A con that had bilked a lonely Sunday school teacher out her modest inheritance. Her father had made Sarah attend the woman's classes for a few weeks in order to draw her in, telling her that his daughter needed some spiritual guidance, what with losing her mother and all.

She'd thought she'd forgotten those words, buried them along with another one of her multitudinous identities. But years later they'd come back to haunt her.

Sarah Walker had become nothing but a dazzling, eye-catching shell. One that had, lurking just below its surface, a surfeit of skeletons.

She firmly believed that any man who could not see that was either guilty of willful self-deception or had all the perceptive powers of a cantaloupe. (She had been in the produce aisle when one of the latter had tried to hit on her.)

Neither group was worthy of her attention, or even her contempt.

But Chuck is nothing like them. Yes, he knows, in general terms, at least, who she is, what's she's done. Yet, he still finds her beautiful. All of her. Inside and out.

And the most amazing thing is that when _he_ says those words, _she_ _feels_ _beautiful._ Inside and out. No one had ever managed to generate that type of response within her. Until now.

She shakes her head, perplexed, but deeply touched at the same time.

 _How? How can he say that? Believe it? What does he see in me?_

Then it happens. She catches her wondering, unguarded reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at her is, for a moment, almost unrecognizable.

Soft, not hard. Innocent, not jaded. Open, not closed.

The face of a little girl just about to embark on what she believes will be a wondrous adventure with her loved, but seldom seen father.

The face, it seems, she's been showing Chuck all this time without her even being aware of it.

She dashes fresh tears from her eyes.

 _Hello, Samantha. It's been a long time_

…

When she walks back to their booth, he says nothing, even though she's quite certain the damage from the tears (and her epiphany) is still evident. She doesn't care.

He just softly smiles, watching her approach.

Chuck's clearly surprised when she joins him on his side of the booth. He's even more surprised when, without a word, she leans in and kisses him, briefly, softly, on his cheek. He blushes.

"Thank you, Chuck."

It seems to her that he's unsure exactly _why_ he's being thanked, but, perhaps sensing her mood, doesn't spoil it with any sort of protest.

"You're welcome, Sarah."

"Chuck, is there someplace quiet we could go? Private? There are things I want to tell you...about myself."

"Yes. There's a special place. A place where I went to get away from…everything."

He chuckles, quietly. "You'd be right if you guessed I've been there a lot in the last couple of years. Whenever I could escape her clutches that is."

He's serious again. "It's my private place, Sarah. No one else knows about it."

She quietly asks, "Will you take me there, Chuck?" Hastily, knowing the importance of what she's asking, she adds, "If it's not too much to ask?"

He shakes his head. "No, Sarah. Not too much to ask. Not at all."

He looks into her eyes for a few long seconds. "Part of me has been wanting to share it with someone for quite some time now."

 **TBC**

—

A/N: Thank you. Just where will the special place be? And what will Sarah tell Chuck?

Tune in next month.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Some shifting of tense in this chapter. Hopefully not too difficult to follow._

 _Always remember, my stories are canonish, not canon. And that two years have passed._ _Neither Chuck or Sarah are exactly who we knew at the beginning. They've changed, hopefully matured. Especially Chuck._

 _Thanks to Michaelfmx, my beta, without whose help and encouragement, this chapter would've been a bit of a mess. And thanks as well to Zettel and Grayroc for their encouraging words and ideas._

 _Any errors you run across are the responsibility of the author._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 **Chapter Eight: Belief**

Her expression wondrous, she delightedly exclaims, "Chuck, it's beautiful!"

They're standing, hand in hand, upon a small rocky outcrop, maybe twenty feet square. Behind them lies a small, but dense grove of wind twisted trees. A hundred feet below, the waves crash rhythmically onto a boulder-strewn beach. The moon is full, its reflection an irregular golden shimmer upon the water.

She feels his eyes upon her.

He replies,"Yes. Extremely beautiful."

…

Earlier.

 _Do people actually get a do-over in life? What might Chuck call it? A reboot?_

She looks over his way. He just gives her a gentle smile. Says nothing. Leaves her to her thoughts. And her driving.

 _There's that damned perceptiveness again._

Sarah had thought that he hadn't understood what she'd been thanking him for. That he hadn't truly comprehended how much of an impact his words had had upon her.

 _Don't fool yourself. He knows. Because you've let him see…you._

She'd never done that on a mission before.

 _Or at any other time. Be honest._

The conjured mirror-image of Samantha had staggered Sarah. She'd thought her long gone, consigned to the scrap heap of her long-ago, best-forgotten youth. But somehow, despite all that had followed, that apparently not-so-fragile inner core had survived.

It was as if the clock had been turned back.

A chance to start again.

She glances Chuck's way. _He certainly deserves that chance._

 _And you don't, Sarah?_

The voice in her head shocks her. It's not hers or anyone else she's known. Not her dad's. Nor Bryce's. Not even Carina's.

It's his. _Chuck's_.

She glances his way, for a moment, foolishly wondering if he'd actually spoken out loud.

How, in the span of nothing more than a few hours, has Chuck Bartowski worked his way this deeply into her psyche?

 _He believes there's something…beautiful…deep down inside me._

 _But he made that decision based on…what? He barely knows me. Almost nothing of my past._

 _To let him remain ignorant would be grossly unfair. A massive lie of omission._

 _I'll have to tell him. Not just scratch the surface like I did last night._

 _Let's him decide if there truly is something...anything…worthwhile within me._

She glances his way again, sees him looking out the side window, apparently absorbed in the scenery passing by.

 _Chuck Bartowski._

 _The arbiter of my fate._

…

It had taken them almost half an hour to drive to the spot where he'd asked her to take an almost indiscernible, rough, little side road.

After traveling a few hundred yards, they'd come to a seemingly impenetrable wall of trees. The effect of their gnarled trunks and twisted branches, visible in the headlights, had been anything but inviting.

She'd been puzzled, wondering what it was that made this place so special for him.

After turning off the engine and killing the headlights, she'd turned to him, about to ask, when, in the moonlight, she'd seen the grin on his face.

He'd asked, "You're wondering, 'what does he see in this place', right?"

Taken aback by his insight, it'd taken her a moment to reply.

"Yes. It doesn't seem like a very…relaxing…place."

Chuck had explained. "That's because, Sarah Walker, _this_ is merely the gateway. Where I want to take you is through there." He'd pointed straight ahead, into the heart of the grove and asked, "You ready?"

She'd nodded, a little uncertainly. If anyone other than Chuck had taken her to such an isolated and foreboding-looking location, she would've been wary of the person's intentions.

As it was, her senses _had_ been on high alert. Wary, not _of_ him, but _for_ him. She'd forced herself to remember her role, that this wasn't a casual date. She'd been reassured by the thought of her S&W in her purse and the feeling of the knives strapped to her calf.

She'd asked him to grab the flashlight from the glove compartment, but he'd told her they wouldn't need it. He had asked her if she had a blanket, stating that it might be a little chilly. She'd found one in the back of her car, neatly packed away. After grabbing it, they'd walked towards the trees.

Sarah had forgotten what it was like to experience moonlight in its fullness. Living in a city did that. But here, shielded from the harsh glare of LA's artificial day, the memory had come back. She'd marveled that she could see quite clearly, that there were distinct shadows cast on the ground.

It had been captivating.

She'd remembered the last time she'd walked in the moonlight. On that occasion, there'd been a sniper rifle slung across her back. And she had noticed the moonlight only insofar as it affected her mission. Certainly, she hadn't been captivated. Rather, under her breath, she'd cursed the pale luminescence, knowing that it might betray her presence to the occupants of the secluded house she was approaching. Normally, she would've waited for a moonless night or some cloud cover, but the latest intel had indicated this would be the last chance before the target changed location. Again.

So she'd walked, stealthily, quickly, intent on reaching a location she'd previously scouted out. One that would allow her to see, just barely, into the high walled courtyard of the place.

She'd been able to charm one of the local deliverymen into revealing that her reclusive subject had one weakness. He always took his morning coffee on the veranda, away from the curtained rooms where he'd spent the last three months of his life, hiding.

In the end, she hadn't been seen and had reached the position she needed in time. The mission was concluded. Satisfactorily, according to Graham.

Another notch on her belt. And another bit of deadened scar tissue on her heart.

But tonight was different. Free from any rigid mission constraints, freed from Graham, she'd been inclined to enjoy the otherworldly glow enveloping them. A big part of that enjoyment had been the pleasant companion by her side.

The weird trees had still bothered her, though.

Although there'd been no one around, he had spoken very quietly, perhaps affected, as she was, by their surroundings.

"Looks a bit like Fangorn Forest, I grant, but I promise the trees won't be doing any talking."

She'd looked at him blankly, totally lost.

He'd chuckled lightly. "Not a Tolkien fan, I see. Another entry on the growing list of 'explain later.'"

When they'd reached the edge of the grove, she'd been hesitant. Even though she'd really wanted to share his private place, she'd couldn't quite see how they were going to reach it.

He'd noticed. Had turned to her and offered his hand.

He'd whispered, "Trust me. I know the way."

Without hesitation, she'd taken his hand as he'd confidently led the way between the contorted trees, following a path invisible to her eyes.

…

"Yes. Extremely beautiful."

His voice sounds odd. Firm, but somehow hesitant at the same time. She turns to see him quickly averting his eyes, bringing them back to the scene before them. Even in the moonlight, it's clear that he's blushing. He releases her hand.

She looks down at it _. A hand can't feel lonely, can it?_

He confounds her while at the same time delighting her. In the restaurant, he'd delivered his lovely, thoughtful words while looking straight into her eyes. Words, in so many ways, much more intimate than any other man had ever spoken to her.

And yet here he is, shy, self-conscious over the relatively innocuous compliment he'd just paid her.

 _Why?_

Then it comes to her. His earlier words had been a selfless act, spoken for her benefit, to build her up. For her and her alone. With no ulterior motive behind them.

Giving, not taking. A Chuck Bartowski trait, it seems.

Perhaps he feels that his comment on her physical beauty is of a different nature. Worried that it might be construed as an act of taking, not giving. Like so many men before him had done.

In general, the men whom Sarah had come in close contact with had no genuine interest in anything other than what they could see. Touch. Possess. To them, she existed solely as an object for their own gratification. An appendage, viewed much the same way as their exotic automobiles or expensive watches.

Their prime concern was what having her on their arm said about _them_.

 _Look at me, I'm handsome/rich/powerful enough to have such a woman._

In some fundamental ways, Bryce hadn't really been any different. She'd known from the very beginning that, regardless of her qualifications, he would never have chosen her as a partner if she'd been of plain or even average appearance.

It's not as if Chuck's not attracted to her. It's plain to see that he is. And she's honest enough with herself to know she would've been disappointed if he hadn't been. But his attraction is of a different, non-possessive sort. A wondrous, "What did I do to deserve to be in her company?"

At the restaurant, her trained eye had noticed a number of men checking her out. Evaluating. She'd seen it often before; the conundrum of the egotistical male.

 _Why would she choose to be with him when she could be with me?_

In similar situations, Bryce had always proudly, if not blatantly, preened, taking their envious stares as a compliment to himself.

Not Chuck, however. It's doubtful he'd even noticed what was going on around them, focused as he was solely on her. He certainly hadn't seemed to catch the numerous flirtatious overtures their pretty brunette server had cheekily ( _why had she assumed that Sarah wasn't his girlfriend?_ ) tossed his way.

Whatever the reason, his possibly inadvertent declaration has embarrassed him ( _which she finds kind of endearing_ ). To spare him any further awkwardness, she asks, "You said you've been coming here for a while. Was this always one of your favorite places?"

He looks relieved by the change of subject. "No, this one's relatively new. Come, sit, and I'll tell you the sad story."

He gestures to a small bench, crudely constructed from driftwood and tree branches.

"Was this here before?"

He shakes his head. "Nope, made it myself after I found the place." He grins, ruefully. "As you can plainly see, carpentry is not one of my skills. But, in my defense, it _is_ pretty comfortable."

For a moment, she imagines him working on it, clumsily, perhaps. Winces inside at the thought of him hitting his thumb with a hammer.

She smiles, cheerily says, "Well, I think it's quite charming. It adds to the ambiance."

He smiles back. "Why, thank you, Miss Walker."

They sit, hips and knees almost brushing up against one another, on his compact creation. She drapes the blanket across their knees.

"Chuck, if you don't mind me asking, how _did_ you find this place? Given that path through the trees, it seems unlikely that anyone could just stumble across it."

"Google Earth. Well, that and some serendipity.

"How so?"

He gestures to his right. "See the house on that point?"

She looks, notices a sprawling, modern structure, a half-mile or so away. "Yes."

"We had a mission there once. Very early on. The guy who used to own it was holding a massive diamond which was to be used to fund a weapon purchase for a terrorist group. We were tasked to reconnoitre his home in order to find a way to recover the diamond."

Sarah remembers reading Forrest's terse, almost perfunctory report in the team's file, being puzzled by its lack of detail.

Curious to hear his perspective, she asks, "How did it go?"

He chuckles. "Good and bad. We'd been assigned a DEA liaison, as they'd been the first to twig to the plans." He shakes his head, grinning. "She was quite the handful. A wildcard. To make a long story short, she impulsively snatched the diamond, and we had to escape down the beach between here and the house. She got away by SeaDoo, with the diamond, I might add. We had to hole up behind the rocks just below us. Forrest and Casey managed to hold off the bad guys until the cavalry arrived.

"The end result was that the terrorists didn't get their weapons and the man's organization was broken up. But the DEA got the lion's share of the glory. Casey and I didn't care, but I'd never seen Forrest so furious." He shakes his head, laughing softly. "She swore if she ever saw Carina Miller again, she'd shoot her on sight."

Sarah jumps. The report hadn't included that _detail_. "Did you say Carina?"

"Yeah, she was the DEA agent. You know her?"

"Yes. She's a friend of mine. Haven't seen her for a while."

He looks at her for a few silent seconds. "Too bad you weren't here back then. Maybe she would've been more cooperative. More of a team player."

Wryly, she replies, "Knowing her, I doubt it."

"You'll have to tell me about her one day."

"I'll have to think about it. Not sure you're quite ready for Carina."

He chuckles. "You're probably right. Anyway, I saw this place when we were running down the beach. Couldn't tell what it was like on top until I checked it out on Google Earth. Afterward, I came and saw it for myself. There was a really old campfire pit and some beer cans, but no evidence there had been anyone here for years. I cleaned it up and made this lovely little bench." He pats it with his hand.

"So this became your go-to place?"

"Yep. My fortress of soli-." He stops. "You know, it's unfair of me to keep lobbing all these pop culture references at you. Suffice it to say, this became my place of...escape.

"I had to sneak away at first, but for the last year or so, Casey would cover for me when I needed to get away from her and all the rest. Wasn't always easy to find the opportunities, but it would've been a lot more difficult if Forrest hadn't passed on a lot of the handling duties to him."

"Was there somewhere else before?"

"There was. A beach...in Malibu." He looks off into the distance. "I started going there when I was a teenager. Used to take the bus. Sometimes, I just needed to be on my own. No Morgan. No Ellie." He pauses. "But Forrest found me there, the night everything happened. And wrecked it for me." He frowns at the memory.

Gently, she asks, "How, Chuck?"

"The best way to describe it is that she was like a mobile Chernobyl. Practically everything she touched, everywhere we went became radioactive to me. Poisoned.

"She made it abundantly clear—again—that I better watch my step. That I couldn't count on Casey to intervene on my behalf in the future. That she would have absolutely no problem going nuclear on me and my family if I didn't cooperate to the fullest.

"This, of course, all coming after she reminded me…forcibly…that there was no place to I could hide from her and that I better not think I could just run off to some goddamned beach anytime I felt like it.

"She twisted my arm until I agreed." He winces.

"Yes, I can see how her threats would've been quite intimidating."

"They certainly were, but what I meant is that she _literally_ twisted my arm. She used this weird little armlock thing on me—"

Sarah cuts him off. She almost hisses, the words barely able to escape her clenched jaw.

"She _hurt_ you?"

Chuck, clearly sensing her sudden, towering rage, pulls back, startled. He tries to backpedal. "Yes, but the pain pretty much stopped as soon as she let go. And it was only the one time."

Sarah knows Forrest's subsequent actions had caused him much more pain than any armlock ever could, but the thought of her laying her hands upon Chuck ignites something primal within her.

She growls, "Don't you dare minimize what she did!"

He looks hurt. "Sorry, Chuck. Not mad at you. It's that woman—"

She closes her eyes, visualizes catching the next plane to Paris. Tracking down the bitch and putting in the same armlock she'd used on Chuck, twisting until she hears the bones start to…

"Sarah." She hears his voice, almost as it's coming from some great distance. "Sarah."

She struggles to clear the vision in her mind. She shakes it off, opens her eyes to see his face very close, concerned. She feels his hand resting gently upon her hand, one she hadn't even realized she'd clenched into a fist.

"Sarah, you OK?"

She takes a deep breath, tries to dampen her fury. She nods, curtly.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

She's about to repeat herself, but stops.

 _No, not doing things the same old way._

"No. Not really. I'm just so freaking angry. If I'd known about this before I met with Forrest I…I would've hurt her…badly. And enjoyed doing it.

"Well, then, it's just as well you _didn't_ know. They might've pulled you off of this assignment. We might've never met."

Quietly he adds, "And that would've been a tragedy, Sarah. Much more painful than a twisted arm could ever be."

She feels her cheeks warm, unsure how to reply to his earnest words.

Fortunately, it seems he's willing to carry the conversational ball. He continues, in an upbeat tone, "So, I realized early on that if I didn't want to ruin all my favorite haunts, I'd have to take her to places that I didn't care about."

"So you didn't take her to the restaurant we went tonight?"

"God, no! I would never take _you_ to any place where she and I went." He chuckles. "If we did, you might pick up some sort of loathsome disease she left lying around."

She manages a small laugh, responding to his efforts to lighten the mood.

He glances at her, grinning. "I'll let you in on a little secret. I started to check out Yelp reviews before we went out. Made sure I always chose the places with the worst possible reviews. I figured that if I was gonna be miserable, she was sure as hell gonna be miserable right alongside me. I think she may have even gotten a mild case of food poisoning at one particularly bad bistro we went to."

The image of Forrest bent over a toilet, retching, cheers Sarah immensely. She chuckles.

"Ouch! I hope I never get on your bad side."

He looks her way, then earnestly, but quietly says, "I don't believe that would be possible, Sarah."

 _Oh!_ She looks down.

 _How does he manage to say such things?_

He doesn't dwell on his words, just looks out at the water again. "Fortunately, most of our fake dates actually _were_ fake. We'd just go to that awful green apartment of hers so she could bombard me with stuff that would make me flash. As bad as the resulting headaches were, it was still better than being with her in public, having to pretend we were a couple.

He continues, a note of disgust in his tone. "When she slept over, the first thing I'd do, after she left, was wash the sheets. I could tell Ellie hated it all, even though she tried to be supportive. Forrest's pillow, I'd throw inside a garbage bag and bury it in the closet until she needed it again. Then I'd open the window, even if it was cold outside. I just couldn't stand the smell of her in my room.

"Just the thought of her writhing in my bed, pretending that we were having...", he blushes, "...you know, made me nauseous.

"Or maybe what all of it was doing to Ellie...and to me, is what made me feel sick."

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure."

She gently places her hand on his, says, softly, "That's all done with now, Chuck. No one needs to pretend anymore."

 _Except I still am. Pretending to be someone who's…beautiful…enough to sit here and listen as you open your heart._

 _It's time, Sarah. You've put it off long enough._

"Chuck, you said some...things at dinner. Lovely words...about what you saw...in me."

She'd thought he'd might be flustered or embarrassed at her reminder. She couldn't be more wrong

He nods slowly, never once breaking eye contact with her. "Yes, Sarah. I remember. They're all true. And I meant every word."

Her insecurities spill out in hurried words. "But how? How can you be so certain? You hardly know me."

He thinks, doesn't respond for a few long moments. "I'm not totally sure. It wasn't one specific thing. More of a gradual accumulation of words. And actions."

He pauses. "There was that moment we had at the Buy More. I felt this immediate connection. More than just physical, although that certainly was a part of it. You just seemed like the kind of person I would want to know better...even though I'm pretty sure my outburst convinced you otherwise."

He grins, ruefully, before going on.

"But if I had to guess, I'd say my good feelings about you really started to take shape when you told me you liked my shoes."

She blinks in surprise. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I know that sounds odd, but when we had that conversation, I knew right then you were different...in a good way...from Forrest. And our talk at Lou's served to only further widen the gap between you and her."

He pauses. "You showed me what kind of person you really are, Sarah."

"I didn't do all that much."

He shakes his head. "Have to disagree. Strongly."

He starts counting on his fingers.

"First, you noticed the whole Lou thing, how it'd affected me. You tried to make me feel better by putting my mind at ease about the whole fake girlfriend charade. Forrest never gave a damn about my feelings.

"Second, you made it very clear where you stood on the issue of hurting me or letting me be hurt. A stand you strongly reinforced tonight, I might add." He frowns. "And we know Forrest's record on that, don't we?

"Third, you showed me just how disgusted you were with Forrest and her tactics. And you understood why I kept going despite what she tried to do. She never gave a damn about what motivated me, just wanted the results. Would do anything to get them.

"Fourth, you helped me see my past actions with the team from a new perspective. I still don't think I was super brave or anything, but I could see where you were coming from. Forrest had no qualms in telling me how little she thought of me and my contributions.

"I could go on, Sarah, but I think you get the drift. You showed me compassion. Empathy. You saw what this life full of lies has been doing to me. How it's touched and contaminated...everything. My family. My friends.

"You were eager, unselfishly eager, to help me put all that crap behind me. I could see it. In your eyes. Your expression. Hear it in your words and the way you said them.

"No, Chuck I'm not—"

He leans in closer, gently cuts her off. "No. None of that. You're a good person, Sarah Walker. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently."

Sarah feels her heart lurch. She puts her hand over her mouth to stop her gasp from escaping, turns away before he can pick up on the stinging tears at the corners of her eyes.

 _I've never been told that. By anyone._

 _Good con, Darlin'. Good mission, Sarah. But never just good…Sarah. Until now._

It takes a few minutes to compose herself. She can feel him watching her, curious, but he says nothing.

She wants to believe him, but her self-doubt perversely moves her to protest. Without looking his way, she says, "But how could you feel that way after I told you what I'd been? Graham's enforcer."

She looks back at him, her mask in place, her voice flat, harsh.

"Let's be blunt, Chuck. I was his assassin. Bloody. Brutal."

If she'd believed this would intimidate, repel him, his response proves her wrong.

He doesn't back away, literally or figuratively. Instead, holding his ground, he quietly replies, "I was thinking about that, about you, last night, Sarah. When I pondered over what Graham et al. had done to you, I was so angry that I felt like punching a hole in the wall."

He shakes his head. "I'm normally not a wall puncher, Sarah. You should know that, but I was just so freaking furious..."

She has this sudden vision of him, fist raised, barely restraining himself.

"But then I started to think about you, about the kind of person I saw sitting across the table from me last night. About the kind of person who would do what you've done for me.

"And I realized something."

He pauses, makes sure she's looking into his eyes. "Almost anyone else would've been irreparably warped, broken. Would've become nothing but a soulless, heartless automaton.

"But not you. I don't presume to know exactly how you avoided that fate, but you did."

 _Did I?_

He continues, "Any person who can live the life you've been forced to live and come out the other side with her humanity intact, is the kind of person I'd be honored to know. Am honored to know.

"You are a truly remarkable woman, Sarah. I'm privileged to have you as my friend."

She turns her head, dashes away her tears with her fingers, ashamed (foolishly, she knows) to let him see her thus reduced.

 _How does he keep doing this to me?_

A hand holding a tissue appears in her blurred peripheral vision. She takes it gratefully. She dabs away the remaining tears. Blows her nose, noisily.

She glances his way, mortified. "Sorry."

He waves it off. "Hey, don't worry about it. Way back in high school, I got used to women crying in my presence. Usually, when they finally realized just how foolish they'd been to say yes when I asked them out."

She chuckles wetly. "Bunch of cry-babies. At the very least, I would've waited until I got home before breaking down."

He laughs. "Yeah. At least grant me that courtesy, right?"

The smile drops from her face as she reaches over and takes his hand, serious once more.

"Chuck, you've said some very kind things about me."

He reiterates, "All true, Sarah."

"Thank you for believing that." She cuts off the protest he's about to make. "But I can't let you go on making assumptions about me."

"What do you mean?"

"For one, you believe I would've handled things better than Forrest did. But I'm not sure I would've."

"That's crazy talk. You would've never acted like her."

"That's my point. You're presuming. If I'm not even certain what I would have done, how can you possibly be so positive I wouldn't have been like her?"

"I just am."

"But you didn't know the Sarah Walker of two years ago. You only know the Sarah you see today. A woman whose life has gone through major upheavals.

"I was more like her than you know. Focused on my job."

His reply is vehement, immediate. "Focused, I can accept, but you're not going to convince me you were ever anything like Alexandra Forrest."

"Chuck, you have this…blind faith in me. In the goodness you think you see."

"Faith, yes, Sarah," he shakes his head, "but not blind. Definitely _not_ blind."

For a second she's unsure how to respond to the absolute sincerity she sees in his eyes and hears in his voice. Her resolve weakens, momentarily, but then she gathers herself and pushes through.

"I believe the only way for you to be sure is for _me_ to tell you about myself. Who I've been. What I've done."

"We already went through this last night."

"No, not really. I'm well aware that you're not ignorant in the general sense. That you have a much better idea than the average person about what this life has demanded of me.

"But you don't know the details. And details count."

 _The Devil is in the details. Appropriate._

He's stubborn. "They won't change my opinion of you."

"OK. How about this? If, at the end of my story, you still think the same of me as you do now, I will accept your judgement. I will do my best to abide by your decision.

"I'll try and see myself the way you see me."

He nods, solemnly. Regards her for a long moment. He sighs. "You need to do this, don't you?"

"Yes, Chuck, I do." She pauses. "But, as important as it is for you to know me, there's another reason I need to do this. A big one."

"And what's that?"

She musters her courage, looks into his eyes."Before I answer, you have to understand something about me.

"I've been a practiced liar for almost my entire life."

He shakes his head, opens his mouth to disagree but she prevents him by quickly adding, "No, it's true. Please listen to me. Patiently, if you can.

"This isn't easy for me to say."

She takes a deep breath. "Chuck, my father was, is, a thief. He called himself a con-man, but that's just sugar-coating it. And he wasn't some Robin Hood type of thief. Quite often, the people he conned were no better off than we were.

"I helped him steal from good people. Right from the time I was eight years old until my middle teens. Even after I knew it was wrong, I kept on doing it for a very long time. Playing my part in the cons he spent so much of his life engineering. Cons that defined who he was, is. And me, I suppose, as well.

"He taught me how to lie. Gave me a solid foundation in duplicity. The CIA built on that foundation. Honed it to near perfection.

"Deception became my baseline, my norm. I've lost track of how many times I've gotten close to my marks by portraying myself as someone I wasn't. A woman with a false name, a fabricated history. Becoming the person they needed me to be, so I could relieve them of whatever Graham wanted."

Part of her wants to look away, but she forces herself to maintain eye contact. "And even when I was sent to eliminate a target with whom I had no actual contact, there was still deception. Just of another sort."

She pauses.

"I had to deceive myself into believing I was OK doing such things. That I could carry them out without such actions having any sort of lasting impact upon me."

She sees the sympathy welling up in his eyes, but she plows on. Looks out towards the horizon.

"This is what goes back to what I said about me not knowing how I would've acted if I come here as planned.

"It's very likely that you wouldn't even have known me as Sarah Walker. To protect myself, I probably would've used an alias. In any case, I certainly wouldn't have told you anything personal, anything real about me.

"An agent never does that with an asset. You never know what might come back and bite you in the ass if you give away an actual truth.

"But I might have told you some made-up things about myself, to make you believe I was opening up to you. In order to draw you closer, to encourage your cooperation. That approach had almost always worked in the past, so why try to fix something that isn't broken?

"That was me, Chuck. Back then. And I was exceptionally good at what I did."

"But now?"

"The last two years have had left their mark on me. Since my accident and Graham's demise, I haven't been kept…busy…with what I used to do. There was time, plenty of time, to think about who I'd become.

"I felt a growing…dissatisfaction…with my life. Not just with the stagnation, but all of it. My past. My present. My future. I felt there needed to be a change. What exactly, I wasn't sure, though."

She looks back at him. "But coming here, meeting you, has made it clear to me."

He's clearly surprised by her declaration. "How, Sarah?"

She doesn't answer directly. "Chuck, you're an inherently truthful, honest person."

He shakes his head. "No, Sarah, I'm not. I've lied lots of times."

"Of course, you have. First of all, we forced you to. But you're also an imperfect human being who tells untruths, even though I suspect most of those lies were small ones, uttered to spare other people's feelings.

"Regardless, what I meant is that your instinct is to tell the truth. To reveal. To enlighten.

"I, on the other hand, have been taught, by word and example, to be the precise opposite. To the point that my instinct is always to mislead. To conceal. To endarken.

"And your first inclination is to trust people, to believe that they are honorable. At least until they prove otherwise. But I've been taught to mistrust, to be suspicious of others, to assume that people are inherently dishonorable."

She looks into his eyes. "I don't want to be that person any more. I want to speak truth. To assume the people I meet are basically good. To be open and honest with myself. And you.

"But I can't do that if I'm hiding my past from you. That would be the most enormous mistruth of all."

He gives her a long look. "I think I get it."

"Please understand, I'm not asking for absolution. Just your honesty. After you know the facts.

"Can you do that, Chuck? For me?"

She almost adds 'for us', (W _here did that come from?)_ but is able to catch herself in time.

He squeezes her hand, gently. "Yes, Sarah. I can and I will. To the very best of my ability."

Now that the moment is here, Sarah finds herself wondering where to start. And knowing what lies ahead, she's suddenly chilled. She shivers. He notices.

He slides closer to her, their hips, knees touching.

"Cold?"

"A little."

He holds up his arm as if to put it around her shoulders.

"Would this help?"

"Yes, it would. Thank you."

He settles his arm around her shoulders. Draws her close. Her shivering stops immediately.

That surprises her until she realizes it wasn't cool night air that was causing her to shiver.

It's fear. Fear that, despite his best intentions, he won't be able to handle what she's about to tell him. But, somehow, the warmth of his tender embrace, banishes her fear. Restores her courage.

At least for the moment.

It takes her some minutes to gather her thoughts, but he doesn't push her. He says nothing, just waits upon her.

With her head leaning into his shoulder she starts. Slowly. Hesitantly.

"Chuck, the first thing you need to know is that my birth name…is not Sarah Walker. That was the name given to me by Graham, by the CIA. However, it is the name I've come to…accept as my own.

"I've had many names, but the first one given to me was Samantha..."

...

As she warms to her task, Sarah finds there's little or no linearity in the litany of horrors she lays out before him. Forward and backward she goes, chronicling the life misshaping events of her past.

One moment, she's speaking of her father and how he'd twisted her, but then something in her words triggers an ugly memory of what Graham had done, and just like that, she's ten years older. A young woman, no longer a little girl. But neither innocent.

She tells him things. The good. The bad. The very bad. Things she's never told anyone else.

Not the CIA psychiatrists. Not Carina. Definitely not Bryce.

How she felt, the depths she fell into after her Red Test. How she crawled inside herself, sickened, after shooting down the unnamed woman in the streets of Paris. How that city had become a blight on her memory. Forever, for her, a city of darkness, not light.

Ashamed, she speaks of how, to her despair, to her regret, it became _easier_ after that. But never easy. How each kill tore another little piece from her heart, leaving behind an organ that came to be more scar tissue than anything else.

And even though she tries to hold it in, her aching, crushing, almost overpowering loneliness leaks through, soaks her narrative, from start to finish. A loneliness that has permeated every aspect of her existence. A loneliness that the presence of Carina and Bryce, each in their time, had only partially, and only temporarily, relieved.

He never interrupts, although she feels him flinch when she comes to some of the truly terrible, blood-soaked passages. But he never pulls away. Instead, he draws her even closer, giving her the strength to carry on.

Eventually, after many hours, (exactly _how_ many, she's unsure), Sarah finds her eyelids drooping, her voice slowing. She doesn't know exactly when it happens, but she's vaguely aware of him drawing the blanket around her more tightly. She sleeps.

…

The feel of the sun on her face and the sound of birds chirping in the trees behind them rouses her. Sarah opens her eyes, blinking. Looking around, confused at first, she realizes that she's nestled into Chuck's shoulder, the blanket around her.

 _He's still holding me. That's a good sign._

 _I hope._

Nonetheless, she keeps her head down, reluctant to look up into his eyes. Fearful that she may have misjudged the situation, afraid of what she might see in his face after all that she's confessed.

She hears his voice, gentle and kind. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"

 _Not what I expected._

She nods, realizing, that despite the discomfort of sitting up all night, she'd slept very well.

"Yes, Chuck." Shyly, she adds, "Thank you for holding me."

"My pleasure, Sarah."

She asks, apprehensively, "Did you sleep?"

She feels him shake his head. "No, I didn't. I had a lot on my mind."

Sarah catches her breath, almost certain what will come next.

 _How can anyone listen to that and not be utterly appalled? Even Chuck Bartowski._

"Sarah, you asked me to listen to your words, in effect, to stand in judgement upon you. To declare that you are a good person despite the life you've led."

She feels him take a deep breath.

 _Here it comes._

"But I can't do that."

Her heart sinks. _Of course, he can't. Who could?_

She pulls away from his embrace, distances herself from him as much as the bench allows. Looks out into the distance.

"I can't be the one to decide that for you. As much as I believe in you, in the fundamental goodness within you, even after all you've told me, in the end, anything I say is meaningless…if you don't believe in yourself."

 _What?_

She turns back to stare at him.

"You have to decide. You, Sarah Walker, have to believe in your heart of hearts what I know to be the truth about you."

 _He hasn't given up on me. Why?_

"But how do I do that?" She hears the note of desperate hope in her voice.

"You have to listen, really listen, to your own words."

"What do you mean?"

"You have this way of portraying yourself that I doubt you're fully aware of. I sort of had to read between the lines to fully comprehend what was really going on."

"In what way?"

"You have a tendency to…maximize…the terrible things you've had to do while minimizing all the unselfish acts that so often accompanied them."

"I don't understand."

"Sarah, I saw the same pattern again and again. You'd tell me about some genocidal warlord or scum of an arms dealer you were sent to take out, only to find that the plan you'd been given was flawed. That it would result in the death of innocent bystanders. People on the street or members of the target's household. Almost in passing, you'd mention how you changed things up, against orders, and often at risk to your own personal safety, just to take the innocents out of harm's way.

"Yet, when you talked about how those missions had affected you, the emphasis was solely on how you eventually took out the target and the resulting blood on your hands. The saving of the others barely got a passing mention. It was almost as if I'd blinked I'd miss it."

She looks into her heart, ponders on his words. Is startled to recognize that's exactly what she'd done.

 _How did I not see that?_

 _How did he see it?_

Nonetheless, something within her impels her to protest. "But not every termination mission was like that! Sometimes the job was quick, neat, with no opportunities to be anything other than focused on the assignment."

"I know. And that sorta leads me to my second point.

"When you spoke, your experiences brought to mind the image of a capable surgeon removing a cancer. One who knows that the cutting, the invasion of the body is necessary, but who still finds it eminently unnatural, distasteful at the same time."

"But surgeons save lives. I was taking them."

"I know the analogy isn't complete. However, like the surgeon, you did what needed to be done, removed the cancer. Not that you decided who the target would be. Your superiors bear the responsibility for the choices made."

She chews on that for a few seconds. "I've never thought of it that way."

"However, you do hear of some surgeons who grow to enjoy the cutting in some twisted, perverted fashion."

Sarah sees where he's going. "You're wondering if I ever felt the same way?"

He shakes his head. "No, not really." He pauses. "But I'm going to ask anyway, because I believe you need to hear the answer out loud.

"Did you ever find enjoyment…pleasure…in doing what Graham forced you to do?"

Her reply is automatic. "No. Thinking back still…sickens me."

He inclines his head. "Did you ever, even once, deliberately make one of your targets suffer? As punishment for who they were, for what they'd done?"

She shakes her head, quietly replies. "I was very good at my job. It was…quick. Every time. Torture, the idea of inflicting pain for pains sake…no, I couldn't…I just couldn't, bring myself to cross that line. It was bad enough…just doing what I did."

She looks away. "But I was tempted…a few times."

He softly replies, "That's understandable. I've felt the same way a number of times over the last few years. After experiencing the ugly acts that some who _claim_ to be human have carried out."

He lets that sink in for a few seconds.

"Please answer me this, Sarah."

She turns to look his way. Raises an eyebrow.

"If you'd heard about a woman, who, under duress, was ordered to carry out actions that went against her very nature, actions that nonetheless resulted, directly and indirectly, in the saving of many lives, someone who'd put herself in harm's way again and again to help good people, what would you think of such a person?"

She gapes at him, sees a little smile on his face as he gently uses her own argument against her.

"Yeah, I know it's a run-on sentence. But, before you say anything, I've been informed on good authority that the actions speak for themselves, thus rendering any counter-argument useless."

"I don't know…"

"Earlier, you asked me to accept that view of myself. I'm asking you now to do the same.

"I'm trying, but it's hard. I've been what I've been for so long."

"I understand. But think about this."

He leans in closer, quietly asks, "Sarah, would you take a termination assignment now?"

Forrest's parting words come back to her. _You prepared to do your duty, Walker?_

 _No, no that. Not anymore._

"No, I wouldn't."

"Even if taking it would result in you being restored to your former position?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Sarah, would you take a bullet for me?"

There's no hesitation. "I would."

"How about, Ellie? Think about it, you've only met her once."

"Yes, I would."

"So, what kind of person would you say that is? One who will no longer engage in those distasteful actions of her past, but is still willing to sacrifice herself for others?"

She shakes her head, mildly exasperated. "You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Bartowski."

"The better to elicit a response, Miss Walker."

She breaks his gaze, looks down into her lap, quiet, part of her afraid to admit to the truth of the evidence laid out before her.

"I'm waiting, Sarah."

She looks up to see that gentle, little smile on his face. Again. One she's quickly learning to love.

"Well?"

"A good person." She can hear the tentativeness of her response, closer to a question than a statement. She has no doubt he can hear it as well.

But he appears to ignore it. "Normally, this is the part where someone says, 'Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?' "

He pauses. "However, I can tell that wasn't easy for you. But, maybe as time goes by, and people other than myself confirm what I've been telling you, it'll get easier."

She looks at him in wonder.

 _How did he do that? Help me see myself in his eyes?_

 _A good person. It'll take time to wrap my head around that._

"It's a time of new beginnings for both of us. At Lou's, you talked about helping me get through all this. And that I could help you as well."

"Yes."

"Sarah, I'm game if you are."

She responds eagerly. "Yes, Chuck. I think it's a great idea."

"To new beginnings, then."

"New beginnings."

"Too bad we don't have any champagne. We could make a toast."

She slides closer, their hips touching once more. She smiles. "I have an idea."

"What?"

She reaches up, takes his head in her hands. Gently pulls him down. Kisses him soundly, but briefly.

Sarah pulls back, sees the stunned look in his face. Waits for a few seconds until he opens his eyes.

"I think that should seal the deal, don't you?"

He replies enthusiastically. Very enthusiastically. "Yes, that most definitely does."

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Thought I change it up from the beach being "The Place". Thank you all for your continued patience, following along even with long intervals between stories. And thank you for all your kind reviews. We'll see some other canon characters (no, not that one) make their appearance, for better or worse, in the next few chapters._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I won't burden you with the reasons why this one is later than usual. Suffice to say, real life took priority._

 _Since there's a long time between chapters, I'm implementing a good suggestion from one reader to include important segments from the previous chapter. To serve as a reminder of where we are._

 _Thanks as always to my beta Michaelfmx. And to Grayroc and Zettel for their generous encouragement and suggestions._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _They're standing, hand in hand, upon a small rocky outcrop, maybe twenty feet square. Behind them lies a small, but dense grove of wind twisted trees. A hundred feet below, the waves crash rhythmically onto a boulder-strewn beach. The moon is full, its reflection an irregular golden shimmer upon the water._

 _"I believe the only way for you to be sure is for me to tell you about myself. Who I've been. What I've done."_

 _She looks into his eyes. "I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to speak truth. To assume the people I meet are basically good. To be open and honest with myself. And you._

 _But I can't do that if I'm hiding my past from you. That would be the most enormous mistruth of all."_

 _"If you'd heard about a woman, who, under duress, was ordered to carry out actions that went against her very nature, actions that nonetheless resulted, directly and indirectly, in the saving of many lives, someone who'd put herself in harm's way again and again to help good people, what would you think of such a person?"_

 **Chapter Nine: Moving Forward**

In the light of a new day, the path through the trees, while still fraught with twists and turns, is much clearer to Sarah. Her confidence bolstered, and with the feel of his lips on hers still fresh in her mind, she takes his hand. Has little problem in leading the way through the maze as they return to her vehicle.

She's reluctant to drop his hand when they reach the car, but there's nothing for it. She can't very well ask him to crawl through the driver's door and into his seat just so she can keep on hanging on to him.

 _Can I?_

…

After they buckle up, it comes to her that, even with all she'd revealed last night, she still hasn't informed him about Casey's hopes for a new Intersect team.

"Chuck, there's something I haven't told you."

He smiles gently at her. "That's OK. It's not as if I'm expecting you to tell me _everything_ about your life in one night.

"We're gonna have plenty of time to learn more about each other."

He abruptly groans, smacking his palm into his forehead. "Idiot!"

She's alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?"

He chuckles, a lopsided grin on his face. "It's pretty much a pop culture trope that the character who says something like that is going to die, usually quite quickly. It's basically the kiss of death."

She raises an eyebrow.

"For example, the brave Navy pilot who tells his friend that it's his last mission before the end of his tour of duty. That he'll soon be free to go back home to his wife and the child he's never seen. Of course, you know he's gonna die. Sure enough, a scene or two later, bam! He's done for."

She mildly objects, smiling. "Come on, Chuck. Not _every_ time, surely."

"Often enough. Too often."

"Well, it's not gonna happen this time."

"No?"

Suddenly serious, she replies, "No. Not as long as I'm around."

"Promise?"

"I'd stake my life on it."

He looks at her long and hard, then slowly nods. "You know, Sarah Walker, I believe you would. Let's just hope it never comes to that."

"No, I hope it doesn't, too. But if it does, I'm ready."

For a moment she visualizes someone threatening his life.

Imagines her immediate, visceral reaction.

It seems that her face betrays her thoughts, for he earnestly remarks, "Sarah, I really, really hope I'm never on the receiving end of the look that just came across your face. If I was, I believe I would have some immediate and embarrassing personal hygiene issues, if you get my drift."

She flushes. "Sorry."

He reaches over and takes her hand. "Nothing to be sorry for."

There's a small, slightly uncomfortable silence between them. Sarah, embarrassed that her mask had slipped so easily (although, given all she'd done last night, she's not certain why). And as for Chuck, if she had to guess, he was thinking about possible scenarios where the actions foreshadowed by her look would actually be needed.

But then he cheerily says, "So, there was something else you wanted to tell me, right?"

"Yes, it's about—"

"Wait. Don't tell me. Let me have three guesses." He grins. "You know, like a game show."

That he has a good sense of humor is nothing new to her, but she's just beginning to understand how he tends to use it in awkward moments.

Like now.

She shakes her head. "I don't think you'll be able to—"

"Pleeease." He gives her what she can only describe as puppy-dog eyes.

She tries to sound annoyed, but fails. "Oh, alright."

He pauses, rubbing his chin as if thinking very deeply. "Hmmm, let me see.

"OK. I've got it."

He leans in a little closer. "You were going to tell me that your secret passion is yodeling."

She gapes. "What?!"

"You know, up in the mountains with the dirndl and the whole bit. You do know what a dirndl is, don't you?"

Patiently, she replies. "Yes, Chuck. I've been to Austria. But I'm definitely _not_ into yodeling."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Why would you possibly think that?"

"It's just that you give off that vibe."

"A yodeling vibe? What would that entail, exactly?"

He frowns. "Hard to define in words, but there's something so…yodelesque in your bearing."

"That's not even a real word, is it?"

"No, but it should be. And your picture could be right beside it."

Shaking her head in mock exasperation, she prompts, "Next guess."

"Give me a second."

He snaps his fingers. "When you were a little girl, you harbored a secret desire to be a member of Bananarama."

"Who or what is a Bananarama?"

"You're joking, right? Just one of the greatest girl groups of the '80s is all."

She looks at him blankly.

"Cruel Summer? Venus? I Heard a Rumor?"

"No idea what you're talking about."

She can see the surprise in his quickly schooled expression. "OK. Apparently, music is not your thing. So, that's a no on Bananarama?"

"Yes, that's a definite no. Last chance Mr. Bartowski."

"I'll need to think about this one. Gimme a minute or two." He studies her, forehead wrinkled in concentration.

She glances at her watch, taps it with her forefinger.

"Alright, alright!"

Leaning in, he says, "When you were ten, a gypsy fortune-teller told you that someday you'd meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger who would change your life. Then you came here, took a look at me, and said to yourself, 'What the heck, two out of three ain't bad. It's worth a shot.'"

He grins in self-deprecation, a personality trait that Sarah's beginning to realize runs deep in Chuck Bartowski.

 _You're definitely worth a shot, Chuck. Definitely._

And of course, he _is_ handsome, just not in the slick, polished, self-aware way that Bryce was.

 _He'd look good in a tux._

 _Where did that come from?_

He's waiting for her answer. Instead, she pretends to press one of the buttons on the steering wheel and lets out a loud, "Braaap!"

He jumps in his seat.

In a smarmy, gameshow-host voice, she announces, "I so sorry, Mr. Bartowski. That was an incorrect answer. What the fortune-teller actually said was that the man would be short, dark and bearded. But thank you for playing our game.

"Johnny, what parting gifts do we have for our lovely contestant?"

He looks at her, gaping, for a few seconds, then puts his head back and laughs, filling the car with his unconstrained joy.

It's possibly the happiest sound she's ever heard. It's utterly impossible for her to not join in, if not quite so uninhibited.

A good minute passes before he's able to regain his composure.

Wiping away his tears, he manages to ask, "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Probably that time I was in the hospital."

"Hospital?"

She shrugs. "A little misjudgment on my part. Got a little _too_ close to the moving car of a businessman my dad was trying to con. Actually hurt myself. Banged up my arm. The man insisted on taking me to the hospital to make sure I was OK. My father couldn't very well say no. They kept me overnight for observation. The woman in the next bad was watching TV until late, seemed to like game shows. I guess the memory stuck, somehow.

She muses, almost to herself. "My father snuck me out in the middle of the night. He was angry with me. Not only had the con gone south, but we had to burn the identities we'd been using."

He gives her a look. Of sympathy, she thinks, but he doesn't comment.

Instead, he cheerily goes back to their previous topic. "So, the man was short, dark and bearded? Sounds like someone we know."

She shakes off the memory, appreciating his efforts to keep things light.

"Yes. The image was so powerful that, when I met Morgan, I thought for a moment he was destined to be the one."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Damn. And I was so sure I had it right. Though, I have to say that Morg would be happy to know he was in the running, even it was for just a second or two."

"So, you're done guessing?"

He grins. "And since I'm clearly so bad at it, please tell me what it was you wanted to say."

"It's something that Casey mentioned when I first spoke with him."

She pauses, unsure how Chuck will feel about she's about to tell him.

"He believes the Intersect isn't actually gone. He feels it might be in hibernation."

Chuck replies, doubtfully, "So, he thinks it might just wake up someday? Just like that?"

He snaps his fingers.

"Yes. He wasn't certain, of course, but likes to think that, given the right circumstances and the right team to support you, it could be a difference-maker again."

He looks straight ahead, thoughtful. "Truth be told, I've wondered if it's really gone, too."

Turning her way, he adds, "You know how I feel about all the lying and all the other garbage, but there was a certain satisfaction in being able to help out."

Earnestly she replies, "And you know how I feel about your 'helping out'. It was much more than that."

He nods his thanks. "Did he say anything about what he thought it would take to get it going again?"

She shakes her head. "No. I got the impression that you'd be the only one who would know."

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't have any idea. There hasn't been anything even close to flash for over a month now. Even when I've seen stuff that certainly would've triggered one before. If, and that's a big if, it does come back, I've got the feeling it'll take something…extraordinary to make that happen."

"I guess we can cross that bridge if and when we ever come to it."

He smiles at her.

"What?"

"You said 'we'."

It takes her a second or two to realize what he means.

She flushes. "I wouldn't let you face that all on your own, Chuck. We caused this mess in the first place. It'd only be fair for me to make sure I did all I could to help you. That's what friends do, right?"

"Exactly."

"Besides, I agree. It'll probably never happen."

"Probably, but it's comforting to know you'd be there if it did. Thank you."

Abruptly, he yawns, stretching out his long arms in front of him.

"Don't know about you, but I could _really_ use a coffee."

Stifling her own yawn, she nods. "Sounds good."

"There's a roadside stand a couple of miles back. Turn left when you reach the highway, please."

"Gotcha."

...

He sits down in the passenger seat, juggling two large coffees. After handing her one, he takes a sip of his, close his eyes and sighs.

"Hopefully, that'll get the old neurons firing again."

Noting his fatigue, she quietly apologizes, "I'm sorry, Chuck."

"For what?" He opens his eyes and looks at her, puzzled.

"I feel bad that my tale of woe kept you up all night."

He waves it off. "Don't worry. I've pulled all-nighters dozens of times before. Most of them for nothing so worthwhile as getting to know somebody like you."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. I'll be fine as soon as I get this caffeine into me." He yawns again. "Which apparently can't happen soon enough."

She grins. "I think you're right."

They drink their coffees for a few minutes, sitting silently.

Until she asks, "Chuck, I just thought of something. Won't Ellie be worried where you were last night?"

"No, I texted her just after you fell asleep. However, it seems Devon, presumably with Ellie's permission, is the one who read the message and replied."

"Why would you think that?"

"You need to know something about my brother-in-law. He's very...enthusiastic and supportive...about certain…aspects of my life."

"Aspects? Which ones?"

"My health for one. Those awful colon cleansers and such."

"Uh-huh." He doesn't go on immediately.

"And?"

He blushes as he mumbles, "My love life."

She manages to keep the smile off her face as she asks, "And this was evident in the text, how?"

He turns on his phone, holds it so they can both see the screen.

The first part is simple, the message encouraging Chuck to bring Sarah over for breakfast. It's what follows that puzzles Sarah.

"What are those symbols?"

"Those, Miss Walker, are emojis. Designed to express feelings and such."

Letting out an unsure, "OK," she points. "That one…"

"Is a fist bump directed my way."

"And the two hands? Looks like praying."

"Supposed to be a high-five, but there isn't an actual symbol for that."

She looks closely. "He uses both of them a lot."

His expression is neutral. "Yeah. That's Devon for you."

"So he's…"

"Congratulating me for what he thinks went on, since we stayed out all night."

"Oh." It sinks in. "Oh!" She blushes. "So his mind always goes…"

"Yes. Pretty much."

Sarah shakes her head. "I would think that could be kind of embarrassing."

"Yes, it can be. Very much so. The first few times _she_ stayed over, his comments made me want to go outside and shoot myself. Especially since it was all a sham and I could tell Forrest was laughing at him under her breath."

"I'm surprised Ellie lets him get away with that."

"She tries to keep him in check, but sometimes it just spills out. But he's not quite as bad as I may have led you to believe. Somehow, mister-no-brakes-on-his-mouth makes his over the top innuendo actually sound almost…innocent. Most of the time. It's almost impossible to really be mad at the guy."

She chuckles.

"Fortunately, you don't have to subject yourself to his morning-after grilling at the breakfast table." He stops. "That is, assuming you _won't_ be joining us for breakfast." Despite the negative slant of his words, he looks and sounds hopeful that she will accept his backhanded invitation.

Her first impulse is to say no, to tell him that it would be best to maintain a degree of professional separation.

 _Different times._

"You know what? I think I will join you. We didn't do anything to be embarrassed about and I am hungry. And I do want to get to know both of them better, in any case. A casual breakfast would be a good place to start."

He grins. "Great. I'll text and tell them you're coming. Give Ellie a chance to prepare."

"She doesn't need to do anything special, Chuck. Whatever they're having will be fine."

He shakes his head. "Nope, that would make her feel like she's not being a good host. One thing you need to know about my sister is that she definitely likes to make guests feel special." He frowns. "Except for Forrest. The hospitality thing did kinda taper off with her."

He takes his phone. She watches as his fingers fly over the screen. Less than a minute later, he gets a reply.

He reads, chuckling as he does so. "First of all, she's _very_ happy you're coming. Secondly, she apologizes for letting Devon reply to my message last night. She was heading to the shower when her phone pinged. She promises to keep 'her idiotic husband', her words, in check when we arrive. Lastly, she says, and I quote, 'We were going to have pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon if that's alright with Sarah?'"

"Wow! That seems like a lot. Would that be a regular breakfast?"

He snorts. "Not hardly. I suspect they were really going to have cereal, but she's going all out to impress you." He catches himself. "But please don't tell her that I said that, OK?"

She replies, grinning, "No problem. I'm a spy, remember. I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."

His answering grin fades as he looks at her thoughtfully. "I am too, Sarah. Especially when people tell me…personal things."

He pauses. "Just wanted you to know that."

Sarah abruptly realizes that she's never had even a moment's concern that he might let others know about the things she'd told him last night. In the hands of some, those candid revelations would be powerful weapons to use against her. To expose her flaws, her fitness as an agent. Even more seriously, those confessions would put her life in danger if they came to the attention of certain individuals. Individuals whose organizations had been seriously damaged by the actions of a heretofore unknown assailant.

 _I trust him. Have since the first moment we met. Why?_

She regards him with a renewed appreciation.

 _I trust him because I have faith in him. And I have faith in him because I trust him._

 _Does that make any sense?_

But then she thinks of the excess baggage she'd dumped on him, the heavy load she'd placed upon his shoulders.

 _Was it fair? Asking him to help carry all that?_

"Chuck?"

"Yes, Sarah?"

"About last night…" She pauses.

"Yes?"

Hesitantly, she goes on, "I unloaded a lot on you. Maybe more than I should have. I'm sorry if I went too far, if I weighed you down with my...burdens. I guess…I guess I'm not used to doing stuff like that."

She sees that look of surprise pass over his face once again, as if he can't quite comprehend what she's saying.

"Sarah, that's how it works. I unload stuff on you. You unload on me. It's a two-way street."

When she doesn't immediately reply, he softly asks, "Surely, you've had other people who were willing to do that for you?"

To her shame, she realizes the answer is no.

Not her father. Never, ever, Bryce.

And not even Carina. Not really. Sure, the two of them had fun together. Had shared dangers. Groused about their jobs, the people they worked with. But their conversations had, by unspoken agreement, rarely revealed anything about their pasts. Or how they were affected by the world they lived in and the actions they were obligated to carry out in that world.

 _Maybe she and I felt we would weaken each other's resolve._

 _Or maybe we were just too cowardly to face up to it all._

She shakes her head. "No, Chuck. I haven't."

"No one? I thought you said you had Carina."

"I did…I do…sorta...I guess."

"You guess?"

"We had a…I'm not really sure what you'd call it. It wasn't a falling out…exactly."

She pauses, thinking back to that time.

"Seeing me, after my accident, saddened, but also confused her. I think she felt out of her depth. Didn't really know to handle herself around me. And I could tell she was frustrated."

"In what way?"

"That we couldn't do any of the things we used to do together. Clubbing, Dancing. But, more importantly, that she couldn't do anything to help me get back on my feet again.

"She didn't have to fix things. She just needed to be there for you."

"I know that…now. But she didn't figure it out. And I suppose I wasn't clear, even in my own mind, about what I wanted from her."

She shrugs, her voice betraying the disappointment she'd tried to put behind her. "She left after a few days. We haven't had much contact since."

Softly, he says, "I'm sorry, Sarah."

Her smile is small, chagrined. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"No, it's absolutely tragic. And so unfair to you. To have no one you could lean on."

He stops, sudden inspiration in his expression. He picks up his phone, spends a few seconds to find what he wants.

"I want you to listen to this. There's someone who said it much better than I ever could. Give me a second." He plays with controls on the dashboard for a few seconds. "That should do it." He pushes the play button on his phone and the music starts to play over the SUV's speakers.

At first, there are just a few, well-spaced notes on a piano, with an organ (she thinks) chiming in. A man starts humming along.

Then he sings,

" _Sometimes in our lives we all have pain_

 _We all have sorrow_

 _But if we are wise_

 _We know that there's always tomorrow."_

" _Lean on me, when you're not strong_

 _And I'll be your friend_

 _I'll help you carry on_

 _For it won't be long_

 _'Til I'm gonna need_

 _Somebody to lean on."_

She listens, closely, as the song continues, deeply affected by the lyrics. The man sings of letting pride go, of being willing to let others know that help is needed, matters she's never been very good at.

Hell, she's been truly awful at it. All of it.

One verse, towards the end, makes her feel like the singer is speaking directly to her.

" _If there is a load you have to bear_

 _That you can't carry_

 _I'm right up the road_

 _I'll share your load."_

After an oft-repeated entreaty to call for help, the song ends, but the words still resonate in her heart.

Choking back a sob, she looks out the side window. Wipes away her a couple of stray tears.

She feels him gently place his hand on her shoulder. She turns her head to face him.

"Sarah, _that's_ what people who care for each other do. They share their burdens. Help each other to carry them. It's what Ellie's done for me more times than I can possibly count. Morgan too. And it's what I've done for them."

He pauses. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but if the people you were close to _didn't_ do that for you, they were pretty crappy friends."

"They weren't totally to blame. I was a pretty crappy at it myself."

"I can't speak to that time. What I _can_ comment on is who I see now, the person I've spent time with the last couple of days."

He looks her in the eyes. "And that person is about as far from being a crappy friend as is possible."

She swallows hard. "You really believe that?"

"Absolutely."

Her eyes search his face, willing herself to accept his opinion.

 _You told him you would. Now do it._

Her thoughts are interrupted by his question. "Sarah, do you think that, maybe, today is your tomorrow?"

"My tomorrow?"

"Like in the song."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your life in D.C. was pretty awful. Is that a fair assessment?

"Yes, it is. I was dying back there. Slowly, painfully. Without really realizing what was happening to me. I hid myself away in a tiny office in the basement of Langley. People _saw_ me. Men made a point of coming to _see_ me. But nobody saw _me,_ you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I think I do. All those years behind the Nerd Herd counter has a tendency to make one blend into the woodwork. To most of the world I was simply a generic, tall computer nerd. Only those close to me saw more."

"But I had no one close, especially after Carina left."

"I know, and that's why I believe this is your tomorrow. You've already made one new friend." He points at himself. "Me. And like I said, I'm only the first of what I'm sure will be a long line of people wanting to be Sarah Walker's friends."

She shakes her head in amazement. "You really believe that, don't you?"

His reply is enthusiastic, heartfelt. "If you show them only a tenth of what you've shown me, people will be falling all over themselves to join the line."

"I think you're a little biased, Chuck."

"Nope. Not a chance. And you know what else? I think your fake business won't be fake for very long."

"How so?"

"Well, as to the fitness part, you clearly got that down pat." This time he holds her gaze. None of the shy turning away he'd done last night.

"And?"

"You clearly know how to take care of yourself. The self-defense stuff would be a snap for you."

"How do you know? You've never seen me in action."

"No, but I've seen Forrest in action, and, despite her many faults, she was pretty good at holding her own in a fight. You told me you were just about ready to kick her butt, so I figure that means you're even better."

"But I didn't actually do it. Maybe she's better than me."

He snorts. "Come on, do you _really_ believe that?"

"Well, no, but it wasn't put to the test."

"Sarah, I have every confidence you would've come out on top."

He pauses. "When I was kidding you about the yodeling thing, I said I saw it in your bearing. The truth is your bearing actually conveys the impression of…focused power, quickness. You have an economy of movement, a grace in the way you carry yourself. Like a dancer.

"Forrest, on the other hand, conveyed nothing but brute force. Sure, there's raw power there, but I doubt you'd ever let her get into a position where she could use it."

Sarah covers her pleasure at his praise with a quick laugh. "That's pretty articulate, Mr. Bartowski. Especially for seven in the morning."

He shrugs. "The caffeine finally kicked in, I guess."

Her stomach chooses that moment to growl. Loudly.

He looks at her and grins. "Speaking of articulate, that was a pretty good way of saying it's time for some food. I'll text and tell them we're on the way."

…

As they enter the courtyard, Chuck inclines his head toward the apartment across the way.

"When do you move in?"

"A few days. They're painting today and tomorrow."

"Need any help with your stuff?"

She shakes her head. "Thanks, but I've only got the one suitcase right now. They'll ship my personal things form D.C. today, but they'll be delivered right here. So I won't need much help."

"Furniture?"

"Glad you reminded me. Do you think Ellie would mind helping me choose what would work? I have pretty much zero experience in that area."

"How come?"

"My apartment in D.C. came furnished. Standard issue. I have no idea what style it was, assuming there even was one."

"But here is different?"

"Yes. Did I tell you that I'm paying the rent myself? And buying my own furniture?"

"No. I thought they gave you an allowance for that kind of stuff."

"They do, Chuck. But I wanted this to be my place. My home. Not the CIA's idea of what is appropriate. Like Maison 23."

He shudders a bit. "Can't say I'm sorry to say goodbye to that green hellhole."

"Then you'll be happy to hear that there's to be no significant amount of green in my new place."

"That's good.

"And I quite sure Ellie would be very willing to help. Just make sure you tell her about your aversion to green."

"I will."

As they stop in front of Ellie's apartment, Sarah suddenly feels a little apprehensive. It seems he notices, for he asks, "You OK?"

"Yeah. Just…nervous, I guess."

"Why?"

"Ellie's your sister, Chuck. The most important person in your life. If this whole thing is going to work, I need to make a good impression on her."

He laughs quietly. "Sarah, you've already done that. You shoulda heard her after our meeting yesterday morning. It was Sarah this and Sarah that. After she'd finished thoroughly chewing me out, that is."

"But she was so cold to me at first."

"Yeah, she was. But my sister appreciates honesty. And you were honest with her. That goes a long way in her books. And, in the end, she did hug you, remember that. That's a good sign."

Sarah takes heart from his words, but still feels uncertain. Again, he notices.

"Look, inviting you over for breakfast is also a good sign. And there'll be other ones to watch for as well."

"Such as?"

"First of all, if she likes you, she'll be wearing her second-best pajamas. Pale yellow ones. Not the flannel ones she usually wears. She wouldn't want you to think she's a slob. But she won't be wearing her fancy silk ones, either. Wouldn't want you to think she's pretentious."

She stares at him. "You're always that observant?"

He shrugs. "We've lived together for a long time. Besides, the silk ones are her way of telling me that I should make myself scarce for a few hours."

"Gotcha."

"Second, watch what plates and stuff she uses. If it's the set with the fancy little flowers, you know you're in her good books. She only brings that out for special occasions. She only used the plain set with Forrest.

"Thirdly, if she offers to cook the type of eggs you like as opposed to just making scrambled and being done with it. Same for the toast.

"Fourthly, watch for a genuine smile when she opens the door. And probably a hug. She'll take you by the arm and lead you to the table, basically ignoring me all the while."

She looks at him, mildly astonished. "You really do pay attention, don't you?"

"Like I said, I've lived with her for a _long_ time."

He inclines his head toward the door. "You ready?"

She nods, still apprehensive, despite his reassurances. "As I'll ever be."

He reaches over to take her hand. Immediately, a calm settles on her. Her nervousness vanishes.

 _How does he do that to me?_

He brings his mouth close to her ear, whispers, "Lean on me, Sarah. I'll never leave you in the lurch."

She feels a tingle go down her spine.

 _Was that a promise?_

She looks at him, but he's turned his face to the door, so she can't read his expression as well as she would like.

He knocks. A few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Ellie, in pale yellow pajamas. She has a smile on her face, one that clearly reaches her eyes. But when she glances down to their intertwined fingers, her smile becomes even bigger, to the point that Sarah wonders if it might actually hurt a little.

She smiles back, as Ellie steps forward, gives Sarah a quick hug. "Sarah, it's so nice you could join us."

She then takes Sarah gently by her free hand and leads her into the apartment. Chuck trails in after them, still holding Sarah's hand.

"Breakfast is almost ready, but I wasn't sure what kind of eggs you'd like."

Sarah glances over her shoulder, sees Chuck smirking as he follows them in, comically pretending that he's being dragged along.

She shoots him a _look_ , but he appears to be completely unfazed by it.

"Scrambled will be fine, Ellie. Thank you."

"Good, I'll get right on it."

They reach the table. "Please sit, Sarah. Devon and I will be out with the food a few moments. Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

"How do you take it?"

Before Sarah can answer, Chuck pipes up. "Black."

Ellie glances over at her brother, seeming to notice him for the first time.

Turning to Chuck, Ellie says, "Glad you're paying attention, little brother." She addresses Sarah again, "You know, it took him quite a while before he learned the way I like my coffee. Seems he had some incentive to learn more quickly this time."

With that, she turns toward the kitchen. "I'll be right back."

Sarah turns to Chuck, who picks up a plate, points to the small flower design. He smirks again. She kicks him under the table, just hard enough to get his attention

He mouths an exaggerated, "Ow!"

She mouths back, doing her best to stop from grinning, "Stop it!"

From the kitchen, Ellie asks, "Sarah, I forgot to ask what kind of toast you'd like. Sourdough or rye?"

"Sourdough, please, Ellie."

When Sarah returns her attention to Chuck, she notices he's slid his chair out of range. He's sitting all prim and proper, looking around the room with an innocent expression on his face.

She mock glares at him. He pays no attention to that. But he does move his chair back beside her. She reaches under the table, and, without conscious thought, places her hand on his thigh. He glances at her, then places his own hand on hers.

Devon approaches the table, carrying a large pitcher of orange juice.

"Good morning, Sarah. It's so nice you could join us for breakfast. I trust the two of you had a pleasant evening, doing whatever…you did…do."

Even to Sarah, who's only known the man for a few hours, the speech sounds stilted, unnatural.

Chuck picks up on it. Quietly asks, "You OK, Devon?"

"Yes, I'm fine—" He stops himself, leans closer and whispers, "Ellie told me I had to behave myself. That if I frightened Sarah off, she'd cut _me_ off so quickly my head would spin.

He swipes his forehead with his free hand. "Your sister is one scary woman, bro."

"Awesome, you knew that going in."

"Yeah, you're right. Part of what I love about her.' Pause. "I guess."

Sarah, who had managed to hold in her smile during this whole conversation, adds her own whisper. "Don't worry, Devon. I don't scare that easily."

He nods. "No, I guess you wouldn't, being a spy and all."

Ellie's voice from the kitchen ends their quiet interchange. "Devon, the food's ready. Could you help me, please?"

He turns his head, booms out, "Sure thing, babe." He plunks the pitcher down on the table.

He murmurs, "Please don't tell her what I said." Then he quickly walks to the kitchen.

Chuck leans in, says, under his breath, grinning, "I believe my sister is the only thing in this whole wide world that frightens him."

…

"Ellie, these pancakes are fantastic!"

The brunette doctor looks very pleased with the compliment.

"Thank you, Sarah. It's a…family recipe that I've worked hard, for quite some time, to perfect. It's important to be able to have good pancakes when you want them." She looks at her brother. "Right, Chuck?"

"Yeah, sis, it is." He sounds solemn.

Sarah sees the silent communication between the two, senses there's some sort of backstory here, but doesn't pry. Instead, she cheerily says, "Well, these are as close to perfect as I've ever had."

Ellie smiles, looks closely at Sarah. Seems to come to a decision. "I can give you the recipe if you'd like."

Chuck arm stops moving, his loaded fork halfway to his mouth. He looks back and forth between the two women, appears a little shocked.

"Ellie, you'd do that for Sarah?"

"Yes, Chuck. I believe I would."

Chuck looks at Sarah, gives her a look, trying to speak with his eyes. She's not sure what's going on here, but somehow it's become important to answer correctly.

She chooses her words carefully. "That's very kind of you, Ellie. But I'm not much of a cook. Perhaps you could teach me how to make these?" She gestures to the short stack on her plate.

"I'd be happy to. Just tell me when."

"Maybe after I've moved into the building?"

"Sounds good."

Chuck looks relieved, starts eating once again.

Somewhat puzzled, Sarah also returns to her food.

…

"…and that was the first time we ever laid eyes on one another. The rest, as they say, is history."

They all laugh at Devon's spirited tale of his and Ellie's early days.

"So, Ellie, was it love at first sight?"

"Not a chance, Sarah. Sure, he was good-looking, but he came across as this spoiled California surfing dude. Definitely not my type."

Devon jumps in, smiling. "But I wore you down, didn't I babe?"

Ellie smiles fondly at her husband. "Yeah, you did. It's when I came to know the mind inside that body that things began to change."

"Man, did they ever. There was this time—"

Ellie clears her throat. "Hh-hmmm."

Devon stops. "Right. Private stuff."

Ellie shifts her gaze, looks over the top of her cup. "So, Sarah, I assume the two of you went to Chuck's secret place last night?"

Chuck, having just taken a sip of his coffee, splutters, starts to choke a bit. Sarah leans closer and pats him on the back. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah catches a speculative look as it passes across Ellie's face

Sarah asks, a little anxiously, "You OK, Chuck?"

It takes a few seconds before he's able to speak.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You know about that, sis?"

"Relax, Chuck. I don't know where it is, just know that you have one."

She looks at Sarah. "When he was thirteen or so, he found this special place down on a beach somewhere in Malibu. He'd go there to be alone."

Sarah doesn't acknowledge she already knew about that, just nods to show she's following.

Chuck gapes at his sister, shakes his head in wonder. "How?"

"You used to just...disappear, from time to time. No one knew where you'd go, not even Morgan. But one day, when I was tidying your room, I came across a folder of bus timetables. You'd underlined the ones you'd need to get to Malibu. That, and the sand you'd wind up leaving on the doormat gave me a pretty good clue.

"You never mentioned it, Ellie."

"Chuck, you didn't need to have me mothering you all the time and I didn't mind a break from the responsibility. It gave both of us a chance to recharge our batteries."

His reply is thoughtful. "I suppose it did." He pauses. "But you should know I don't go there anymore."

Ellie shakes her head. "I didn't think you did. I noticed that shortly after… _she…_ forced her way into our lives, the sand you used to track in pretty much stopped. But you'd still disappear from time to time, especially when I could tell you were stressed out or unhappy. Which, in light of what I found out _only yesterday_ ," she pauses to briefly glower at her brother, "wasn't nearly so often as it could've, or maybe, should've, been.

"Anyway, you were always, at least a little bit, better the morning after your secret jaunts. So, I figured you'd found some other place to get away from it all."

"You'd make a good detective, sis."

"Just know you well, little brother."

"So how _did_ you figure out where Sarah and I had gone last night?"

"At first, I wasn't sure. But when I saw you at the door this morning, I could tell the two of you had this…connection."

Devon opens his mouth to speak, but Ellie sternly cuts him off. "Not a word, Devon. You promised."

He closes his mouth. Grins sheepishly.

Ellie rolls her eyes at her husband, then turns her attention back to Chuck and Sarah. "You were holding hands when you walked in. And, if I'm not mistaken, you had a bit of Sarah's shade of lipstick on the corner of your mouth."

Chuck takes his napkin and quickly dabs at his mouth.

Ellie chuckles. "Don't worry, Chuck. It got wiped off earlier, along with the copious amount of maple syrup you'd somehow managed to get all over your face."

He hangs his head, while the rest of them laugh.

Ellie continues, "As I was saying, there were lots of things that gave you away. You knowing how Sarah took her coffee. How you made sure Sarah got the best slices of the bacon. Her reaction when she thought you were choking. The fact that you've been sitting so close, holding hands under the table almost the entire time. "

"How did figure that out Ellie?"

"It's not rocket science, Chuck. You usually don't eat one-handed. Today you did."

"Like I said, a good detective."

"Then I realized what had happened. You guys had 'The Night', you know, when two people really get to know each other.

"Since you weren't here, and I doubted you would want to go anywhere that reminded you of _her,_ there had to be someplace else. And what better place than where you _used_ to go to be alone _?_

"And before you say anything, Chuck, I'm not upset you took Sarah there. There are certain things you only share with certain people." She looks at the blonde spy. "Special people."

Sarah blushes, looks down at her empty plate. Chuck lets out an exaggerated yawn, one that neatly shifts the attention away from her.

"If it's OK with you, I think I better hit the sack. Didn't get much sleep last night."

Before Devon can even start, Ellie holds up her finger. "No!"

"But—"

"Still no."

Sarah grins, then says, "I'm a little tired, too. Best if I get some rest. Can I call you later, Ellie?"

"I'd like that. I'm off until tomorrow."

They all rise from the table and walk towards the front door.

Sarah shakes Devon's hand. Then turns to Ellie. In a moment of boldness, Sarah dispenses with the handshake and moves in for a quick hug. Ellie looks surprised, then pleased.

"Thank you both for such a wonderful breakfast. I hope this isn't the usual fare. If it is, I'm gonna get fat."

"Don't worry, Sarah. I doubt that'll ever happen. Chuck, could you please see Sarah out? Devon and I will clean up."

"Sure thing."

They walk to the door, which Chuck opens for her and then follows her out into the courtyard, closing the door behind him.

She turns to him. "Thank you, Chuck. That was a wonderful end to…I'm not sure what to call last night. Amazing doesn't seem to fit or convey how important it all was to me.

"Thank you for listening. For your encouragement." She shakes her head. "I don't know what I did to deserve all of that."

"You were just yourself, Sarah. That's all it took. Just keep doing that and everyone's gonna rush to your side."

The thought thrills and frightens her at the same time.

"It's a little scary."

"Hey, don't worry. If you want, I'll be the gatekeeper. Just to make sure you're not overwhelmed with undesirables."

"You'd do that?"

"Suuuure. I'll start with Jeff and Lester. You'll definitely want to keep them at a safe distance."

"Scraggly blonde hair and dark long-haired?"

"Yes. You've met them?"

"No, just saw Morgan chasing them away from you on the day I went into the Buy More."

"Morgan's a good friend. He always looks out for me. He'll do the same for you once he gets to know you."

"He will?"

"Absolutely.

 _It's a new world, Sarah._

"Chuck, there's one thing I'm curious about. But feel free not to answer if it's too personal."

"What was that?"

"The whole pancake incident. There was something going on there, between you and Ellie."

He hesitates.

"Like I said, if it's too personal…"

"No, I don't mind telling you.'

He takes a deep breath. "The day our father walked out, for good, he promised us pancakes. He went to the store to get what was needed, but never came back.

"When Ellie or I promise we're going to have pancakes, we always do. To that end, we always make sure we have the ingredients on hand. I guess pancakes have become a symbol that we can take care of ourselves. And that we keep our word."

Sarah, looking up at him, seeing the unforgotten sadness in his eyes, has to blink hard to hold back her tears.

But then he cheers up. "The good part, Sarah, is that Ellie offered you the recipe. Do you know how significant that was?"

"No, why?"

"Only three people in this world have that recipe. Her, Devon and me. She's admitting you to a very elite club. If you had even the slightest doubt that she likes you, that answers the question."

Abruptly, he lets out a huge yawn. "I really do need some sleep. Talk to you later?"

As Sarah looks up at him, seeing the fatigue in his beautiful brown eyes, his slumped shoulders, she remembers what brought it on his exhaustion, and it suddenly comes to her that last night was of a more intimate nature than any night she'd ever spent with Bryce.

Sure, she'd been with Bryce more times than she could recall, but she'd never felt what she feels toward this gentle, kind man standing before her.

With Bryce, she'd hoped the physical intimacy would, at some point, lead to intimacy of another, deeper kind. The sharing of heart and mind.

But it never happened.

She'd tried, at first, to establish that deeper connection with him. As they'd lain together, she'd made attempts to discuss the emotional demands of their jobs. How they felt about what they were doing. But he'd always found a way to change the subject. Most often, by using his hands and lips to distract her.

In fairness, it wasn't _all_ his fault. She'd given up rather quickly, had resigned herself to the way things were. But the question of whether she would ever find anything more had never truly left her mind.

But last night, Chuck Bartowski had answered her question in the affirmative. And, even though all they've done _physically_ is share a couple of relatively chaste kisses and hold hands, she feels far closer to him than she ever did to Bryce.

 _And I'll never forget how he held me all through the night._

 _Do you love him?_

Her inner voice shocks her.

Love? It's much too soon to be using that word.

 _Isn't it?_

She rolls the word around in her mind.

 _Or is it?_

 _Sarah, you were drawn to him even before you met him, weren't you? Spending time with him only confirmed that you cared for him, didn't it?_

 _Yes. But how does he feel about me?_

It's clear he's waiting for a response from her

"Chuck?"

"Yes, Sarah?"

"You've used the word friend a lot in the last couple of days. And I'm so grateful that you consider me to be your friend and that you are mine. But..."

"But, what?"

Taking a deep breath, she asks, hesitantly, "Do you think you could ever see us being more than just friends?"

"Like boyfriend and girlfriend?"

She nods, shyly, afraid to look him in the eyes.

He takes her hands in his. "Sarah." She looks up, sees him looking so intently at her.

"There's nothing on this earth I could want more."

She stares at him, his smile so bright it almost hurts to look at.

"Then all this talk about friendship was..."

"No, no. I meant every word. I wanted to be your friend from the first time I saw you."

He gently strokes the tops of hands with his thumbs. "I wanted more, but I'm just this schmuck who works at the Buy More. And I don't even have the Intersect anymore. To put it mildly, I wasn't overly confident that someone like you could care that way for someone like me. But I thought I could at least be your friend. And if I could do that, maybe someday you could grow to care for me."

She chides him gently, a burgeoning smile on her face. "You adorable idiot! I was the one thinking that I wasn't good enough for you. That, after all I'd told you, you might, just might stick by me as a friend, but you could never see yourself committing to someone who's led my kind of life."

He chuckles ruefully. "It appears we may need to work on our communication skills."

"It does."

He grins at her. "So, girlfriend Sarah, do we tell everyone about this momentous event?"

She grins back. "Well, boyfriend Chuck, I'm pretty sure Ellie's already figured it out. No harm in letting Devon and Morgan in on it. The rest of the world can go ahead and draw their own conclusions."

"Sounds good to me. Would you like to go on a date tonight? Our first as boyfriend and girlfriend?"

She softly replies. "Yes, I'd like that. Very much."

He nods as he looks around them. "It seems we've been caught without champagne once again.

"Oh, well..."

He drops her hands, moves quickly to take her in his arms. His left hand is on her lower back, the other entangled in her hair. She wonders how his embrace can be so gentle and yet so firm at the same time,

She only has a second to ponder this, because suddenly he's kissing her with every bit of energy in his body. Despite his fervor, his lips are soft, not demanding, waiting for her to respond.

Which she does, throwing her arms around his neck, drawing him close, very close. She parts her lips, invitingly. Which he picks up on very quickly.

Years of loneliness and misery are swept away by the passionate promise of his kiss. And, although she has no way of knowing for sure, she's fairly certain her kiss has done the same for him.

A new start for them both.

Many seconds pass before they bring the kiss to a reluctant conclusion, both breathing heavily, their foreheads touching.

She tilts her head back a little so can look in his eyes, then quietly but firmly says, "Chuck Bartowski, I believe I'm falling in love with you."

"And I with you, Sarah Walker."

Even though he does his best to stifle it, a sudden yawn escapes him. He's embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. Kissing you should've completely banished any thought of tiredness."

"Don't worry about it. After all, it was my fault that you got no sleep last night."

"Still."

"Please don't even think about it." She grabs him by the shoulders, turns him so he's facing the door.

"Now, go in there and get some sleep. I'll see you this evening." She gives him a little shove.

He opens the door and, after one more long look her way, closes it behind him.

She turns toward the archway, but before she takes more than a dozen steps, she hears Casey's voice quietly calling her from the door of his apartment.

"Walker, could you come in for a minute? Something I need to show you." He sounds serious.

"Sure."

With the memory of their kiss still so fresh in her mind, the last thing she wants to is get bogged down with are security protocols or other such mundane matters. Nevertheless, she follows him into his place, shuts the door behind her. He sits down at his table, in front of a computer monitor.

"What is it, Casey?"

He turns the monitor her way. "You know this guy?

The man pictured is handsome, with dark hair parted on the right. Dark eyebrows and eyes.

Sarah shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

"You sure? He's one of your guys."

"An agent?"

"Yes. Take a look again."

Casey waits patiently as she studies the photo again.

"Hang on. I met him once, briefly, almost a year ago. He came down to the little office I was working out of. He asked me out for a drink. Wasn't interested, so I turned him down."

"That's it? No other interaction?"

"No. What's going on?"

"Last night he," Casey points to the monitor, "went off the reservation. Somehow managed to get his hands on some of Graham's archived personal files. Left a couple of bodies in his wake."

Sarah shakes her head in confusion. "What's this got to do with me?"

"He only took three files."

It starts to click.

"Mine?"

"Yeah, and two others. All of you were Graham's personal enforcers at one time."

She ponders his words. "So they figure he's coming after the three of us?"

"Well, you don't leave bodies lying around if you're not serious. But I've got a hunch he narrowed it down to you three. He needed the files to be sure which one of you he's _really_ after."

"Narrowed _what_ down?"

He shakes his head. "Don't know. Some mission he had some stake in." He pauses. "Maybe someone you took out was somehow connected to him?"

A sudden chill settles over her, but she doesn't let Casey see it. Instead, she shrugs. "No idea. It's possible, I guess."

They're both silent for a few moments.

"And you're sure you don't know of any other link to him?"

She's exasperated. Growls, "Already told you I didn't."

He holds his hands up. "OK. Sorry, I asked. There's an interagency BOLO out on him. There's one chance in three that he's heading our way.

"Just wanted to make sure you watch your back."

"Sorry, Casey. Thanks for the heads up."

"I expect all this will be on your secure laptop when you get back to Maison 23."

"I'm sure it will. I'll go over it there."

She looks at the monitor again.

"Does this guy have a name?"

"Yeah. Goes by Daniel Shaw."

 **TBC**

—

A/N: Oh no! I know what you're thinking. The 2x4 is about to make his appearance. You're right, but have no fear. Things will work out.

Thanks to all you kind readers who've taken the time and effort to review this story. Encouragement of that sort is critical to those of us who write for this site. Please keep those reviews coming.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Well, w_ _haddaya know_ _? Actually got this one out in less than a month!_

 _Zettel motioned in one of his author's notes the characters in his stories are fallible human beings, prone to mistakes in judgement and not omniscient. (At least that's the gist of what I recall. Hope I'm not too far off.) I'll borrow those thoughts to say the same for the characters in this story, especially the Sarah in this chapter._

 _A big thank you to Zettel and Grayroc for their insightful suggestions._

 _And, of course, the same to michaelfmx, my stalwart beta._

 _Any errors you see are the responsibility of the writer._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _She tilts her head back a little so can look in his eyes, then quietly, but firmly says, "Chuck Bartowski, I believe I'm falling in love with you."_

 _"And I with you, Sarah Walker."_

 _She looks at the monitor again._

 _"Does this guy have a name?_ _"_

 _"Yeah. Goes by Daniel Shaw."_

 **Chapter Ten: A Step Back?**

Sarah sits, staring at her laptop screen, unable to escape the feeling that her life is nothing but a cruel joke perpetrated by the spy gods. That she's receiving her just reward for daring to think that she deserved some actual happiness in this life.

How could it be explained otherwise?

Within minutes of finally understanding and accepting where her future truly lays, her past has reared its ugly head, threatening to take it all away.

When Casey had told her the chances were one in three, she'd had to stop herself from laughing bitterly. The fates had never been that kind to Sarah Walker. She'd known with a weary, bone-deep certainty than Daniel Shaw was heading her way.

And what she's just read has simply confirmed it. Despite the tightening of security after Shaw's violent appropriation of Graham's secret files, two hours ago, someone (she has no doubt who) had gained access (electronically, this time) to her current file and now knew the particulars of her present assignment.

Shaw knows about Chuck Bartowski. Fortunately, only the bare facts.

The file wouldn't tell him how, in the past two days, the man had gone from being a simple babysitting assignment to the most precious thing on earth to her.

But if Shaw somehow finds that out…

Whatever the reasons are for his vendetta against her, she's almost certain his vengeance won't stop with just her. He'll go after anyone who means anything to her as well. Preferably eliminating them while they're in her presence. To make her suffering that much worse and make his revenge that much sweeter.

She knows because that's what Agent Walker would do.

If someone took Chuck's life, she would, at that very instant, become a relentless, vengeful fury, scorching the earth and salting the ground of the person who'd dared to take him away from her. She would never rest until that person was moldering in the grave.

But only after ripping away everything that person valued.

She shakes her head to push the thought away. Glances down at the file open on her laptop.

Agent Daniel Shaw.

The man is some sort of machine. Never in his entire career has he failed to accomplish his mission. Solid, if not flashy, successes, one after the other. But unlike Bryce, he seems to have been content to stay in the background, to let others reap whatever glory the missions had accrued.

 _I guess that's why I've never heard of him._

Everything indicates that he's a meticulous, methodical planner, which is good in one sense, as it'll take him some time to scout out the situation. All of which will give her some time, probably a day or two, she figures, before he tries anything.

But it's bad, terrifyingly bad, in another sense. He won't try some glaringly obvious frontal assault, one which she would have a good chance of stopping.

No, she's almost certain he'll be much craftier than that. Maybe use a long-range sniper rifle to take out anyone that he discovers is of value to her. Then, and only then, will he move in to make it close and personal.

She's not overly concerned about those few people outside of Burbank that are important to her. Her mother is so well hidden, even the CIA doesn't where she is. As for her father, the various law enforcement agencies had never been able to keep track of him since his release from jail. And Carina's so deep in her undercover assignment, that Sarah would have almost no hope of finding out where her friend currently is even if she tried.

No, it's the people _here_ she has to worry about.

 _The big question is will he be able to find out about Chuck and me? Can I keep it under wraps? Keep Chuck safe?_

After all, the only people who know she cares for him are Ellie and Devon. She doubts they've told anyone else. And won't, if asked not to, especially if Chuck's safety is at stake.

 _Morgan._

 _Maybe Chuck's already told him about us. We did agree that was OK._

Either way, the chances are that Morgan's already told people at the Buy More about Chuck and his new blonde girlfriend.

 _Twenty or thirty people might already know that Chuck and I have some sort of relationship, the depth of which has been, perhaps, exaggerated by the short bearded man._

 _How can I possibly contain that?_

Her heart lurches as the answer comes to her.

 _I'll have to break up with him, messily and in public. Tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. And I can't let him, or Ellie, in on it. Otherwise, they might give themselves away. Shaw might see that, realize they mean something to me._

She feels herself spiraling.

 _I'll have to play the heartless bitch, laugh in his face as I tell him that I was just stringing him along for my personal amusement. That I_ _'_ _d made a bet with Forrest that I could entrap him in less than a week. That everything I told him was an elaborate fiction. Humiliate him. Tell him that he was a gullible fool to think that I could ever even begin to love a man like him. Push him forcibly away, make sure everyone knows that he means less than nothing to me._

In her mind's eye, she can visualize him looking at her as she lies to his face. First, the bewilderment, then the absolute, soul-crushing dejection when he realizes he's been betrayed once again.

 _How can I possibly do that to him?_

 _I have to._

That act, Sarah fears, will finally kill that part of him she loves so much. Stop that hopeful, open, loving, beautiful heart he's managed to keep beating despite all the crap this life has thrown his way.

But at least he'll be alive.

Sort of.

 _After, I'll have to get as far away from Burbank as possible. As quickly as possible. But leave enough clues to draw Shaw after me, away from here._

As she thinks about what her immediate future might hold, the threat of losing her life isn't paramount in her mind. No, it's the overwhelming burden of sadness that she'll have to leave behind the first and, almost certainly, the only chance she'll ever have for something real, something beyond the hollowness of her crimson-stained existence.

 _Can't think of that right now. I have to get ready._

To that end, she grabs her suitcase, throws it on the bed and opens it. Sees her pajamas on top.

 _Ellie._

Sarah chokes back a sob. Ellie will hate her. Will curse her, wish her dead.

 _And I will be. Even if Shaw doesn't kill me, I'll be dead inside._

 _Second death._

 _No chance of another resurrection._

 _But as long as I know that Chuck is safe, I can live…exist...with that._

 _And if not, maybe I'll have the chance to take Shaw with me into Hell._

Her vision of a bloodied Shaw is dispelled by a knock on her door.

 _Shaw? Already?_

It's very unlikely, but she picks up her S&W anyway. Standing off to one side, she calls out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Sarah."

Even though it's muffled by the door, she has no trouble recognizing Chuck's voice.

 _Damnit! How can I possibly find the needed courage if I see his face?_

 _Perhaps I can start the ball rolling now, tell him to go away, that I have no desire to talk to him?_

He speaks again. "Let me in, Sarah. Please."

 _You'll only wind up getting hurt if I do._

There's a pause. "Casey told me about Shaw."

 _Damn._

She walks to the door, opens it, her pistol hanging in her free hand. It looks like he's come straight from his bed, his curls a little squished on one side.

He notices the pistol. Glances from it back to her face. She sees him look over her shoulder, towards the bed. Notices the flicker in his eyes when he sees the suitcase.

"May I come in?"

Sarah opens the door a bit more, backs away so he can enter, waves him through.

After closing the door behind him, she turns to see him standing beside the bed.

She's curt. "Casey should've let you sleep."

He shrugs his shoulders. "He thought it was important for me to know."

Holding in her annoyance, she asks, "How much did he tell you?"

"Not much. Just that some vengeance-minded rogue agent might be coming after you. Possibly over some blown mission or…someone you may have taken out.

"Casey's worried about you, Sarah."

She can't keep the surprise out of her reply, "Why would he be worried about me? I've only known the man for a couple of days."

"Where does it stipulate that a certain amount of time must pass before you're allowed to care for somebody?"

She doesn't argue.

 _Guilty as charged._

"He respects you. And he likes you, and that's only partially because he can see how much happier I've been since you came here.

"He's noticed how…close we've become."

"How did he figure that out?"

He grins, briefly, ruefully. "Well, we weren't exactly discreet about that kiss in the courtyard. Casey saw in through the window. As did Ellie, I'm pretty sure. But she's going out of her way to pretend she didn't."

"Yeah, I guess it was a little obvious, wasn't it?"

"You can say that again. If Morgan ever finds out about it, I expect he'll tell me he felt a disturbance in the Force at that very moment."

He shakes his head. "Sorry, another Nerdism. They seem to slip out."

She gives him a weak smile, but doesn't comment.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he glances once more toward her open suitcase, then takes a sudden, deep breath. "Sarah, what are your intentions?" His tone is, for him, a little blunt.

"I ask because it appears you're preparing to leave Burbank.

"And me."

She tries to make her voice firm, businesslike. "Chuck, my job is to protect you, not to bring danger down on your head. If I stay here, Shaw will likely come after you. To get back at me, for whatever I did to him."

"And just how were you planning to make sure he wouldn't have any interest in me?"

She breaks his gaze, looks off to one side. Doesn't reply.

"OK. I assume it's something you'd prefer not to tell me.

"If I had to guess, I'd say you'd planned to break up with me, publicly and nastily, in order to convince everyone that I don't mean anything to you. So that when Shaw looked into matters, there wouldn't be any reason for him to go after me or Ellie. Was that close?"

She gapes up at him, then nods reluctantly.

"But I have to ask one thing." His eyes bore into hers. "Were you planning to let me in on it?"

She turns away, eyes down, gives her head an almost imperceptible shake.

His voice is low, sad, a little hoarse. "Sarah, you do know that would pretty much destroy me, don't you?"

Her head still down, she quietly replies, stammering, "Ye...yes. I do. But I…I thought if you didn't believe it was real, you might somehow give yourself away. That Shaw might see that." She chokes on her words. "And use that to his advantage.

"And it would be all my fault."

"Sarah—"

She brings her eyes to his, cuts him off. "Don't you see, Chuck? I'm toxic. I leave nothing but pain and misery in my wake. Me being in your life has only served to endanger you."

"Sarah—"

"I'll never really escape my bloody past. The Daniel Shaws of my world are the price I pay for foolishly thinking I could. Even if I can somehow fix this situation, there will always be another ghost waiting in the wings for an opportunity."

"Sarah—"

"I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me. I can't."

He nods, grimly. His voice is harsh. "So, to stop me from being hurt, you'd planned to make me believe that it'd all been a sham. Sorta like killing me to save me?"

She doesn't reply.

"And I assume the next part of the plan would be to draw Shaw away, pinning the target on your back. Is that right?"

"Yes. That's my job."

"And if, while you're out there," he makes a vague, waving gesture, "by yourself, with no backup, he manages to catch up with you and kill you, I'm supposed to be thankful that you've saved my life at the cost of yours. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"And I'm expected to go my merry way, living the life that you sacrificed yourself for?"

"Chuck, you'd be alive and that's all that counts."

"Is it, Sarah?"

"What do you mean?"

"What sort of life would I have without you in it?"

 _No sort of life at all._

"I'll tell you. No sort of life at all."

His words precisely echo her own thoughts, but she can't admit she feels the same. Not now, when his safety is on the line. Instead, she tries to inject a tone of dismissiveness into her voice. "You've only known me for short while. I can't be that important to you. You'd move on. Find someone else."

He shakes his head, sadly. "Is that how you feel? About me?"

 _I have to be strong._

"I care for you, Chuck. I do. But we've only known each other for such a short time. Hardly enough time to get past the first stages of acquaintance, let alone build anything of permanence."

"You didn't answer the question. Do you view me as someone of little importance? Someone you'll be able to forget with the passage of a few weeks or months?

She can hear his despair in the almost whispered question. "Are you telling me that those words you spoke after our kiss meant…nothing?"

 _Drive home the dagger, Sarah! You're doing it for him. And Ellie._

She makes the mistake of looking into his eyes, sees the burgeoning pain within them.

"I...I..."

 _How could I ever leave him?_

And just like that, any ability to articulate a complete sentence or even a single word abandons her. She stands before him, mute, her arms hanging limply at her sides. The pistol slips from her hand, thumping onto the carpet. Sudden tears flow freely.

He steps closer, gently cups her face in his large hands, softly wipes away the tears with his thumbs.

Bringing his face near hers, he asks, softly, "You really do love me, don't you?"

She sniffles, then nods slowly, looking into his eyes.

He kisses her, ever so tenderly.

"And I love you, Sarah Walker.

"And before you ask, I'm not exactly sure how it happened so quickly, either.

"All I know is that there was this huge…void in my life.

"Then you were there...and it wasn't."

He doesn't add anything further, just patiently waits upon her.

A few, long moments pass before she's able to speak. "When you smiled at me, that first time in the Buy More, you made me feel…alive…again. That there was something…someone worth living for.

"You were…are…this gift. One I didn't even know I wanted—no, I _needed_ so badly."

He shakes his head. "Maybe we've been searching for each other all this time without even knowing it."

"Maybe, Chuck. This is all new to me. I have no real idea how love is supposed to work."

He's surprised. "You've never been in love before?"

"No. I thought I was…for a while…with Bryce, but no." She shakes her head. "Not quite sure exactly what it was, but definitely _not_ love."

"I thought Jill was _The One_. We'd planned—no, that's wrong— _I'd_ planned out this whole life for us in my head. But I never really knew _her_. Or loved _her_. Only this…fantasy woman I'd cobbled together in my mind.

"We never had conversations like you and I have had, not even close. I've learned more about you in _two days_ than I learned about her in all the time she and I were together."

"That's what so confusing, Chuck. I don't do that. Tell people about myself. Not with Bryce. Not with anyone."

" _Didn't_ do that.

"What?"

"Past tense."

She blushes. "Yes, of course. _Didn't_ do that."

"Why tell me?"

"I was so sick of lying. Pretending to be anyone but myself."

His reply is gentle. "I get that, Sarah. But why me? Why Chuck Bartowski?"

She doesn't have to think. "I trusted you." Pause. "Do trust you."

He absorbs that silently for a few seconds, then quietly asks, "Why?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. You just seemed so…worthy…of trust, so I took a leap. Of faith, you might say." She reaches up, smiling, as she gently strokes his cheek. "And I've had no cause to regret that decision."

Taking her hand, he kisses her palm. "Thank you. That's the best gift anyone's ever given me."

But then, as she looks up into his eyes, it all comes rushing down on her again. All this talk of love and trust has done nothing to solve the dilemma they're facing. Rather, it's simply made what she _must_ do all the more unbearable.

She drops his hand, steps back. Taking a deep breath, she manages to keep her voice from wavering as she tells him, "It's _because_ I love you that I have to leave."

He blinks, surprised. "What are you saying?"

She grabs his hand. "Chuck, listen to me. Shaw's read my file, so he knows Agent Walker doesn't form attachments. Not real ones, anyway. He'll probably never even begin to suspect that I've fallen in love with a curly-haired nerd from the Buy More."

"So why would you leave if he wouldn't think there's anything going on between us?"

"Because if he sees us together I believe he'll realize there _is_ something between us."

He sounds desperate. "I can do it, Sarah. It'll be hard, but I can pretend I don't care for you. I pretended with Forrest and I can do the same here."

She fidgets for a few seconds. "It's not you I'm worried about.

"It's me."

He gapes at her. "You?"

"Ever since we met, I've been finding it increasingly…difficult…to hold in my emotions.

"And I'm terrified those feelings would betray me…us…if he observes us in each other's company."

"Then don't spend any time with me until after he's dealt with."

"I can't do that, either. He knows I was sent here to watch over you. If I stay in Burbank, but keep away from you, he would find that suspicious.

"Besides, if he is here, I have to be close by to protect you, just in case he already has some reason to try and hurt you. And that's when I might give things away."

"So you're saying you're damned if you do and damned if you don't?"

"Yes."

"So your plan is to run away."

She flinches at his choice of words. "Yes."

"Don't you think he might find _that_ problematic? Abandoning your post and all that? Might he not think you're deliberately trying to draw him after you?"

"I'm hoping that he'll just be so intent on tracking me down that he won't think about it. Or if he does, he'll conclude that I'm simply a coward, running to save my own life."

He's dubious, both in expression and word. "Come on, Sarah. Casey told me Shaw had your file. After reading it, do you really think he'd ever believe that you're a coward?"

She flushes a bit, warmed by his belief in her.

"The truth is that for the last two years, I _have_ been a coward."

He shakes his head. "No-"

"No, Chuck. I was. Timidly accepting my fate instead of fighting to keep who I was alive. Content to stay in my own little prison cell instead of making every effort to escape."

 _I was dead._

 _Until we met._

 _And now I have to leave you._

"And Shaw knows the state I'd been reduced to back in Langley. It's likely he won't find it hard to believe that I've lost my edge."

 _Because I did._

He studies her face for a few long, silent seconds. "You honestly believe that running is the best course of action?"

"Yes. The safest for you. Casey can watch over you."

She looks away. "Until I return."

"You mean _if_ you return, don't you, Sarah?"

She flushes. Again, she's unable to find words.

"Because, to me, it sounds like you might not come back even if you do manage to deal with Shaw. That you maybe feel, in the long run, it's too dangerous for me to be near you."

She stares at him, caught off guard, once again, by his perceptiveness.

"Don't bother to answer. I can see it in your eyes."

He pauses. "And I can also see you're determined to go."

His shoulders slump as he takes a couple of steps back. His voice is flat, weary, defeated.

"So, _Agent Walker_ , when and where did you plan to do the breakup thing?"

His reversion to that impersonal form of address is a punch to her gut.

 _I deserve that._

It takes all her strength to stop herself from breaking down on the spot, but, somehow, she gathers herself and replies, "I wasn't thinking clearly. If I stage a public break-up, that'll only draw his attention to you. Make him re-evaluate.

"And I can't risk that.

"I'll just slip away, quietly."

It appears he's about to acquiesce, but then he straightens up, puts his shoulders back and closes the distance between them until his face is only a few inches away from hers.

He towers over her. It's intimidating, almost frightening.

"No."

Her first impulse is to back away, but he puts his hands on her shoulders. Not roughly, but it's enough to stop her instinctive reaction.

"No." He shakes his head, vehemently. "I've meekly stood by and watched as the people I cared for walked out of my life. My parents. Jill. Bryce. I've let life kick me in the teeth over and over again.

"I won't do that anymore. I'm not gonna just sit back and let you do this."

Desperation tinges her voice. "Don't you see? I don't want to go, but it's the only way."

"No, Sarah. I will not let you walk away. From me. From us."

"You have to."

His response is to wrap his arms around her and pull her close.

She pleads. "Please, Chuck, just let me go."

Although she knows at least a dozen ways to easily extricate herself from her present position, she can't bring herself to use even a single one of them. Instead, she only half-heartedly tries to escape his embrace.

Then, completely unexpectedly, she starts to cry, great heaving, racking, but almost silent sobs.

He gently strokes her hair, murmurs in her ear, "Shh, baby. We'll find another way."

And just like that, her anxiety flees. She stops struggling, puts her arms around him and rests her head against his chest. Her tears soak his shirtfront.

She's only been called baby once before, had hated the endearment the moment it came from Bryce's mouth. She'd made it abundantly clear that he wasn't to repeat it.

But, somehow, when Chuck says it, she likes the sound of it. And, crazily enough, she believes in him when he says they'll find a way.

 _Why? I have no idea. I just do._

How long they stand like that, she's unsure. A few minutes she supposes. Eventually, he releases her from their prolonged hug, but holds on to her hand as he sits on the edge of the bed, tugging her gently down to sit beside him. He uses his free hand to grab some tissues from her bedside table and hands them to her.

She dabs at her eyes, then noisily blows her nose.

"We need to talk about this, Sarah."

"Yes, Chuck. We do. But you need to know I'm not good at it."

He raises an eyebrow, silently asking.

She replies, "I'm accustomed to solving problems on my own. Even when I was teamed with Bryce, it was much the same. Which led to problems when we weren't exactly on the same page."

"My brains, Casey's strength, your steel."

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

"It's a paraphrase from one of the greatest movies ever made."

She gives him an exasperated look.

"Sorry, three of the heroes are discussing what assets they possess in their fight against the bad guys."

"So you're saying…"

He goes on, earnestly, "That you don't have to do this on your own, Sarah. We can be a team. _We_ can come up with a plan to deal with Shaw."

She tries not to be swayed by the emotion in his voice, to consider his idea objectively. After a few moment's thought, she replies, "I'm willing to try, but I won't lie to you. If we don't come up with anything better, we'll have to go with my plan."

He starts to object.

She tries to sound stern. "Non-negotiable."

 _Please don't fight me on this, Chuck. If you do, I know I'll cave._

He sighs. "Alright, Sarah. I understand."

She lets out a breath. "Promise?"

He nods, solemnly. "Promise. But only if you promise to give our ideas a fair shot."

"Yes, I promise."

He stands. "Good, now that we've settled that, we need to get a move on."

He offers her his hand. She takes it and stands.

"First thing we need to do is get back to Echo Park."

"Why not Castle?"

"Casey told me it's already well on the way to being deactivated. However, the security measures at the apartment are still in place, minus the interior cameras. He was going to double-check things while I came to see you. We should be safe enough while we put our heads together."

He looks around her room, a faint look of disgust on his face. "Anything you need here?"

"Just a few last things in the bathroom. The rest of my stuff is still packed. It'll only take a couple of minutes, then we can go."

"Good. Hopefully, this is the last time I'll ever see this place."

"Amen to that."

…

As she pulls her vehicle out onto the street, he looks her way and asks, "Sarah, how would you handle Shaw if I _wasn't_ in the picture?"

Her response is automatic. "I'd go after the bastard. Take the fight to him."

"So why not now?"

She doesn't look his way, takes a few seconds before she answers.

"I've got so much more to lose now. You. Ellie. A life."

"I've made you cautious. Hesitant." Statement, not a question.

She firmly grips the wheel, looks straight ahead. "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

They come to a stop at a red light, so she's able to turn to him and say, with some force, "Don't ever apologize for being you, Chuck Bartowski. I can honestly say that these last few days with you have been the best ones of my entire life."

He's surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

The light changes so she's unable to closely watch him think about her words.

When he does speak again, he sounds puzzled.

"Sarah, you say you've got much more to lose now and I understand that. I feel the same way." He pauses, "But…"

She glances at him. "But what?"

"I'm confused. It almost seems you're unwilling to fight for the chance you've been given."

His words hurt, but she can see where's he coming from.

"Chuck, before I came here, I had nothing to lose, not really. I haven't seen or heard from either of my parents for years. If I died, they'd miss me, but I've had so little impact on their lives for the past few years that they'd find a way to go on living. Much as they're doing now. Besides, there's a decent chance they wouldn't even find out."

"And Carina?"

"Carina knows that careers in our line of work are usually short ones. She's always understood that it's quite likely the odds would finally catch up with me one day.

"Sure, she'd cry for a while, probably lock herself away for a few days, but, in the end, she'd bounce back. Not because she's heartless or unfeeling. It's just the way we have to be in our business to survive."

"I'm still not sure I understand."

She's mildly exasperated that he can't seem to grasp her point, but bites her tongue. "My parents and Carina are safe. So if Shaw had come after me _before_ I was sent here, the only thing I would be risking by going after him would be my own life.

"But now I've got you. And as much as I care for my parents and Carina, you mean so much more to me. If I don't do this right, if I trip up, you might get hurt…or worse."

"I want a future here, with you, but I can't risk your life by aggressively going after him and failing."

"Then don't fail."

His bald statement catches her by surprise.

She quickly pulls her vehicle to the side of the road.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Sarah."

He pauses. "Let me ask you this. Have you ever failed to accomplish a mission?"

"Chuck, that's not the point."

"Yes or no. Have you ever failed a mission?"

"No, I haven't. Except the one to be here two years ago."

"You never really got a chance to start that one. If you had, I'm sure you wouldn't have blown it."

He takes her hand. "Look, I have no desire to be hurt and I sure as hell don't want Ellie to be hurt either.

"But this passive, running away thing, isn't you. It isn't the Sarah Walker I've come to know.

"The Sarah Walker I know kicks butt and takes names. Even when the odds are stacked against her."

She opens her mouth to object, but he doesn't give her the chance.

"And yes, I understand that you feel the past few years have weakened your resolve, but I firmly believe that courage is still there, strong as ever."

"Furthermore—"

He doesn't have a chance to finish his sentence because she abruptly leans closer, places her hand on the back of his head and pulls him close.

Then soundly kisses him.

She pulls back after a few seconds, sees the stunned look on his face.

She smiles. "I can see the ad. 'Chuck Bartowski. Motivational speaker. Coming to your city. Sign up now.'"

He blushes. "Too much?"

"No. I needed the reminder. Thank you."

Looking relieved, he replies, "You're welcome."

She quirks an eyebrow. "But I have to ask. What's with the whole, 'Sarah Walker I've come to know' thing?"

He flushes a little, scratches the back of his head. "Well, while I wouldn't exactly call you an open book, you didn't seem to have too much trouble expressing your thoughts and feelings. You kinda made it easy for me."

"You're serious?"

He nods. "Are you trying to tell me that you weren't always like this?"

She's dumbfounded by his words, until she remembers he's only known her for such a brief time. "No, Chuck, I _definitely_ was not. I was known as the Ice Queen for good reasons."

"They actually called you that?"

"Yes. Behind my back. Except for Carina. She said it to my face."

He leans in closer. "Clearly, anyone who used that term didn't know you."

"In all fairness, I didn't make that easy. For anyone."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone."

"Except me?"

"Except you."

She looks at him coyly. "I guess you might say that you were my first."

It takes a second or two for that to sink in. When it finally does, he blushes furiously, suddenly finding something out the passenger window quite fascinating.

Chuckling gently, she does a shoulder check, then pulls her vehicle back onto the road and resumes the drive to Echo Park.

…

After Sarah puts the vehicle in park and kills the engine, she turns to him. "Chuck, before we go in, there's a couple of favors I'd like to ask of you."

"What kind of favors?" He sounds somewhat wary.

Given all that's happened this day, she can't say she blames him.

She reaches over and takes his hand. "Nothing big." She pauses. "Well, maybe sorta big."

He waits on her.

"It's to do with a couple of…names…you used earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"Chuck, when you held me, you called me baby."

His words tumble out in a hurried almost-jumble. "That was too soon, wasn't it? I knew it but it kinda just slipped out. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sorry. I won't do it again."

She almost laughs at him, but stops herself knowing it would probably hurt his feelings.

The man is such an endearing contradiction. It wasn't more than a few minutes ago that he'd been very firm with her. Calling her out, brooking no-nonsense. But here he is, practically tripping over his tongue in his rush to apologize for something of relatively minor consequence.

 _Just another one of the reasons I love him._

She looks at him, sitting there, all red-faced. Struggles again to hold in her amusement.

 _Time to let him off the hook._

"No. No. It's alright. I…liked…hearing it from you." She squeezes his hand. "But maybe not in public. Not yet, anyway.

She asks, with just a touch of anxiousness in her voice, "Is that OK with you?"

Relieved, he nods, smiles. "Duly noted."

"Good."

When she doesn't go on immediately, he asks, "And the other name?"

She holds back for a few moments. "It's when you called me Agent Walker."

"I did?"

"Yes. When you were upset with me."

"Yes. I remember now."

"I'm used to rest of the world calling me that. Used to people thinking I'm nothing but a CIA Agent with a violent, ugly past. A heartless, soulless enforcer. It doesn't bother me."

"But it hurts, really hurts that maybe _you_ think of me that way, too."

The contriteness he'd displayed over the 'baby' thing pales in comparison to his abject wretchedness at this moment.

The anguish in his voice is glaringly apparent. "I don't think of you like that, Sarah. I don't. I know it's no excuse, but I was just so angry and disappointed that it just came out of my mouth.

He smacks himself in the forehead, hard. "God, I'm such an idiot!"

"Chuck! Don't! I gave you ample reason to be disappointed with me."

"I'm sorry. So sorry."

"It's water under the bridge. All I'm asking is that, no matter how upset you might get with me in the future, you won't call me that again."

His reply is earnest, heartfelt. "I won't, Sarah. Never again. You have my promise."

"I believe you.

"As far as I'm concerned, _Agent Walker_ never made it back last night. She got lost in the maze of those twisted trees, never to be heard from again. However, Sarah Walker, the _girlfriend_ , despite all the obstacles in her path, did find her way."

She caresses his cheek. "To you."

He takes her hand, kisses the palm. He chuckles lightly. "Thank goodness for your sense of direction."

"You were the beacon, Chuck. Once I recognized that it was pretty easy to find the direction I needed to go."

He grins. "One advantage of being tall, I suppose. Easy to spot me in a crowd."

She smiles back. "Yes, that's certainly true."

She drops the smile. "Over the next little while, I may have to act like Agent Walker. To do the things that are needed to protect Ellie, you…us. But I'll never _be_ her again.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Sarah, I do."

"No matter what happens, from now on, I'd like you to think of me as Sarah. The girlfriend. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, as long as you can think of me as something other than an idiot who keeps sticking his foot in his mouth."

She grins. "I believe I can manage that, boyfriend Chuck."

"Do you think we should kiss now?"

"Yes, I think that would be appropriate."

"Oddly enough, I feel the same way."

…

Casey opens his door before she has a chance to knock.

After looking back and forth between her and Chuck, he bluntly asks, "You in, Walker?"

"Yes. Chuck's convinced me to give it a shot."

"Good." The big man backs off to give them room. "We've got a lot to talk about."

They file into his apartment. Casey closes and locks the door behind them.

"The perimeter alarms are set. No one can get within fifty feet of this place without me knowing about it. By the way, you should know the cameras cover the parking lot. Just in case you were planning to engage in any more the activity I witnessed a few minutes ago."

Sarah blushes, but is surprised by Chuck's mild reaction.

"Just kissing, Casey. Nothing more. Can we get down to business now?"

Casey, seemingly a bit taken aback by Chuck's aplomb, mutters, "OK."

"I think the first thing we need to know is why Shaw is coming after Sarah. Would you agree?"

Both agents nod.

Chuck gestures to Casey's laptop. "May I take a look at Shaw's file?"

"Go right ahead. I couldn't find anything. Fresh eyes might help."

"I might need to do some hacking as well."

"Sorry, my deaf ear must be acting up. Couldn't hear what you just said."

Chuck grins as he sits down at the table. His face a study in concentration, he starts to rapidly read the information.

Casey murmurs, "When he's in the zone, it's best to leave him be."

They withdraw into the living room and sit down. Sarah listens closely as Casey lays out the security arrangements for the apartment complex. She makes a few suggestions, which Casey takes note of. But, even as they converse, Sarah finds her eyes are constantly being drawn back to Chuck. It's fascinating and enlightening to see him in his element, the bluish light from the LCD screen emphasizing his furrowed brow as his fingers fly over the keyboard.

Casey's just about to tell her what weapons he has on hand, when she notices Chuck stop what he's doing, then grimace strangely, his eyes rolling back a little. He blinks a few times, shaking his head.

She stares. "Was that—"

"—a flash? Yeah, it was. It seems the Intersect is back." Casey gives her a long look. Smirks. "It appears our boy just needed the right incentive."

She notices Chuck press his fingers against his temples. He closes his eyes, seemingly in pain. Jumping up from her chair, she goes to him.

Leaning in close, she quietly asks, "Chuck, you OK?"

He opens his eyes and looks at her. "Yeah, I'm good. That one just stung a bit more than usual." He taps his temple. "Seems this thing wasn't dead after all."

He takes a breath, suddenly solemn. "Sarah, I know why he's coming after you.

"It's to do with your Red Test."

"My Red Test? How?"

"The woman you…took out. Did they ever tell you her name?"

"No. Graham just informed me that she was a traitor, a double agent. I was given her picture and told where she'd be and..."

It hits her then. "Oh, my god! That's it, isn't it? _She's_ the reason."

"Yes."

He hesitates. "Sarah, her name was Evelyn. Evelyn Shaw.

"Daniel's wife."

 **TBC**

— _A/N: Of course, this revelation is nothing new to readers here, but try to remember that to Sarah it is shocking, startling. Next chapter we'll explore more of her reaction. And their plan._

 _Thank you all for following along and taking the time to review_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Thank you, good readers, for your patience and kind words as this story continues to unfold._

 _Thanks go out to my beta, michaelfmx. And to Zettel and Grayroc for their encouragement and suggestions._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

— **-**

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _When Casey had told her the chances were one in three, she'd had to stop herself from laughing bitterly. The fates had never been that kind to Sarah Walker. She'd known with a weary, bone-deep certainty than Daniel Shaw was heading her way._

 _The big question is will he be able to find out about Chuck and me? Can I keep it under wraps? Keep Chuck safe?_

 _She stares. "Was that—"_

 _"_ _—a flash? Yeah, it was. It seems the Intersect is back." Casey gives her a long look. Smirks. "It appears our boy just needed the right incentive."_

 _He hesitates. "Sarah, her name was Evelyn. Evelyn Shaw._

 _"Daniel's wife."_

 **Chapter Eleven: Morally Bankrupt?**

" _I killed his wife?_ "

Sarah feels her gorge rise, wonders if she's going to be sick to her stomach right there and then. Swallowing heavily, she somehow manages to fight it off.

But, of course, Chuck notices. "You OK?"

She shakes her head. Snaps at him, angrily, sarcastically. "No, Chuck, I'm not. I killed another agent's wife, for god's sake. How could I possibly be OK?"

He winces, but doesn't respond in kind. Instead, he turns to Casey and calmly asks, "Can you give us a few minutes?"

The big man gets up from his chair, grabs a cigar from his humidor. "Sure. I'll be in the courtyard. Take your time."

"Thanks. And, Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"As a personal favor, I'm gonna ask you not to tell anyone the Intersect started working again. Not yet. For all we know, this may just be a one-time thing."

Casey looks reluctant but, after a couple of seconds, grunts, "Yeah. OK."

As he reaches the door, he turns and says, "Just so you know, Walker, I observe standard agent residence protocols."

"Thanks, Casey."

After the door closes behind the Major, Chuck looks at her and asks, "What does that mean?"

"No bugs in his residence. In other words, he won't be recording our conversation. His way of giving us privacy."

"Oh. That's good to know. Because we need to talk."

Chuck slides his chair back and stands. He takes her hand and leads her to the couch.

"Sit, please."

For a moment, it's in her mind to refuse, to flee from the uncomfortable conversation she's about to face. But it only takes a single glance into his eyes, overflowing with concern, to crumble her resolve.

She sits.

He sits close beside her, turns to look at her, then quietly says, "Sarah, when I asked if you were OK, I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you looked so ill for a few moments there."

She shakes her head. "No, I know you didn't. I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just that…"

"What?"

She looks at him. "You've read Shaw's file, you know how much of a boy scout he is. Pretty much the perfect agent. And yet I was sent to kill his wife, without ever being told why. And now I'm wondering. What could she have done that was so wrong as to deserve a death sentence without him knowing about it? For all I know, Graham could've ordered her execution for personal reasons. Or political ones."

"Sarah, trust me. There were reasons. Legitimate ones. Ones I flashed on. Which I'll lay out for you and Casey in a few minutes."

"But that's not the only problem, is it, Sarah? Maybe not even the main one. There's something else that's bothering you, isn't there?"

She turns away, doesn't answer for a few moments. "Chuck, how can I fault Shaw for doing exactly what I would do in his place?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before you came to my room, I was thinking about what I'd do if someone was to…take you from me." She can't bring herself to use the actual words.

He doesn't seem to have the same problem. "You mean if they killed me?"

She flinches. "Yes."

"And what did you conclude?"

"That I wouldn't rest…until they'd paid for what they'd done."

"With their life?"

"Yes."

"Only theirs?"

She doesn't respond.

"Let me guess. Not just theirs, but also the lives of that person's family. Maybe their friends as well. Right?"

"Yes."

"I mean that much to you? That you would do something like that?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, I would want _justice_ , closure for those I left behind. And yes, that may mean that the person _responsible_ would have to pay the penalty. I get that.

"But, no to going beyond that. No to some mindless, soul-crushing, all-consuming thirst for vengeance.

"That's not you."

She's defiant. "You're wrong. It is."

He looks at her sadly. "Sarah, do you _actually_ believe that you're capable of doing that?"

Under his gaze, she feels her confidence waver, but still firmly replies, "Yes."

"I think you're wrong. Those thoughts were nothing but a knee-jerk reaction."

She feels herself bristle at his presumptuous words. Clearly, her expression reflects that, for he launches into an immediate explanation.

"Hold on! Don't misunderstand me. I get it. Sometimes, late at night, I've thought of what I would do if someone…hurt…Ellie. Visualized the actions I might take. Violent, retributive ones.

"But, in the light of day, I knew I'd never carry them out. Just as I know you wouldn't."

"You can't really know that, Chuck."

"Excuse me, Sarah, but I can. I can because the woman I held in my arms last night told me a story. How she did what was right in case after case, even in the face of staggering odds.

"But in the end, I would've been convinced even if you'd told me nothing other than what happened in Budapest."

…

 _The moon has almost set by the time she starts to wind down. He's still holding her close on the wooden bench, his attentiveness having never wavered. But she's almost spent, her eyelids drooping._

 _It's at this moment that it comes to her that there's a defining event—a hugely important one—she has yet to tell him about. One that has played such a large part in whom she is right now, that to leave it out would be almost criminal._

 _But she hesitates, knowing why she's held back from telling him until now._

 _Only two people are certain of the little girls continued existence. Only two know what Sarah had to do to get her to safety._

 _Sarah wonders, despite all that she's told him, if she can find it in herself to trust him with this, her deepest, most private secret._

 _If it gets out..._

 _But then she stops herself._

 _Sarah, either you trust him…or you don't._

 _Trust is not trust unless it is wholly given, without reservation._

 _Can you do that?_

 _Her mental response is immediate, forceful, certain._

 _Yes._

 _She pulls back so she can look into his eyes. "Chuck, I want…need…to tell you about my last mission. The one shortly before the accident."_

 _He reaches over with his free hand, pulls the blanket a little higher around her. "It's OK, Sarah. Really. You sound tired. We can do this another time."_

" _Please. I need to tell you now."_

 _His reply is softly spoken. "Of course. If it's important to you, it's important to me."_

" _It is."_

 _He says nothing further, just nods._

 _She takes a breath. "It was in Budapest. I was assigned to work with a senior agent by the name of_ _Ryker_ _. For reasons I never fully_ _understood_ _, Graham had made him my handler for this mission. I was instructed to retrieve a...package...from a certain location. A mansion, in one of wealthier sections of the city._

" _I wasn't sure why he needed my particular...skills...for something that seemed so simple."_

 _She grimaces. "I found out very quickly._

" _The place was occupied by members of a local crime syndicate. They'd killed the couple that lived there, had left their bullet-riddled corpses off in a corner as if they were nothing more than two sacks of trash. The murderers were celebrating when I arrived._

" _I was instructed to take them out. All of them."_

 _He's already heard her tell of the numerous termination missions Graham had assigned her, so is not visibly taken aback by the almost casual way she speaks of being ordered to take even more lives. But she can sense a certain level of something—resignation, perhaps—in his reply._

" _How many?"_

 _She hesitates, knowing what his response will likely be. "Eleven."_

 _Sure enough, all she hears is his concern for her in his startled reply. "Eleven? Are you telling me that this…this_ _Ryker_ _sent you in alone, one against eleven?"_

 _She nods._

" _What kind of idiotic handler was he? Those kinds of odds would almost guarantee you'd get hurt…or worse."_

 _His anger is suddenly replaced by concern. "Wait. You weren't hurt, were you?"_

" _No, Chuck, I wasn't. And before you ask, I did as I was told."_

 _He shakes his head, bewildered. "But, how? Against so many?"_

" _I had surprise on my side. And they'd been drinking._

 _But most of all, they weren't ready for someone…like me."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _I was well trained, proficient with weapons…agile._

" _But I'm also a woman. Who looks the way I do. It's…hardwired…into most men that such an appearance does not go hand in hand with acts of violence. A part of them denies what they see happening right in front of them, slows their reaction time, just a hair, but enough for me, moving quickly, to take them out."_

" _All eleven?"_

" _Yes, Chuck. All eleven. It was...macabre…a dance of death, which I'd prefer to avoid speaking of any further."_

" _Sorry."_

" _It's OK. No need to apologize. Just a scene I'm trying hard to put behind me."_

" _I get that." He pauses. "Can you tell me what the package was?"_

" _A baby."_

" _What?!"_

" _Yes. A baby. Which I wasn't about to leave behind. So I harnessed her to my chest and fought my way out past other members of the gang who'd shown up. More of them died._

" _I took the baby to a small hotel, one that, no one, including_ _Ryker_ _, knew about."_

 _She pauses, the memory, even now, making her shudder. He pulls her a little tighter to him, but doesn't comment. "I was terrified. I had no idea what to do with this child. I emptied my weapons case to make a bed for her. I only came to appreciate the irony of that later on. A beginning of life taking the place of the implements I'd used to make an ending for so many._

" _I paid one of the hotel employees to get the things I thought I needed. But nothing seemed to work. I changed her, fed her, but she wouldn't stop crying. Eventually, I called my mother."_

 _She hears the surprise in his voice. "Your mother?"_

" _Yes, I know I haven't mentioned her before. Our communication through the years had been…sporadic. But I turned to her then. And she helped me. I was able to get the baby to sleep and got some fitful rest for myself._

" _The next morning I met with_ _Ryker_ _. I pretended to bring the baby along in a carriage. In fact, she was being watched over by one of the older hotel maids. One whom I'd subtly encouraged to believe I was a mother on the run from an abusive husband or boyfriend._

" _Ryker_ _explained that whoever had the child had access to a vast fortune. Which he clearly wanted for himself. Once the money was in his hands, I knew what would happen to the baby._

" _He told me that he'd chosen me for this mission because I had no one in my life to tell the story to. No close friends, no close family. Alone. He intimated that I was incapable of really caring for anyone or anything, so handing over the baby would be easy._

" _Rather than persuade me, his words only served to crystallize my determination to protect her. At any cost._

" _When he finally recognized that I wasn't going to go along with it, he aimed his pistol at me."_

" _I reacted." She grimaces at the memory._

" _You shot him?"_

 _She nods. "I had no choice."_

" _Killed him?"_

 _Her reply is curt, devoid of emotion. "Yes. I wasn't about to miss my target from four feet away._

 _He pulls her a little closer._

" _After, I took the baby and brought her back to the States, by a long and convoluted route. I wasn't about to turn her over to the CIA._ _Ryker_ _was gone, but I had no idea how many other '_ _Ryker_ _s' there were at Langley, just waiting for the opportunity. I hid her with my mother, who's been raising her for the last couple of years._

" _No one else knows, for sure, that the child is still alive. And no one at the CIA is even aware of my mother's existence, let alone her whereabouts."_

 _His gaze is thoughtful, his voice curious. "And yet, you told me. Why?"_

" _Because I want you to know me, who I am. Budapest became a…watershed event…in my life. It changed me. Almost as much as my Red Test did."_

" _How so?"_

" _I didn't consciously realize it at the time, but, looking back, some part of me knew that after what'd happened there, I was finished with termination missions. I'm certain that I would've refused Graham point-blank if that had been my next assignment. He'd likely figured that out, so skirted the issue by planning to send me here instead."_

 _She frowns. "Not that his plan worked out."_

 _He gives her a grin. "Well, better late than never."_

" _Yes." She manages a small, brief smile in return. "But, as it turned out, I believe I was for the best that I was late…to the game."_

" _Why, Sarah?"_

 _A few moments of silence pass before she speaks again. "_ _Ryker_ _'s words were harsh, deliberately cruel. But that didn't make them any less true. They affected me. Deeply. Especially his description of my file, how it screamed, 'loner'._

" _I was lonely, I knew that already. Had known for years. But, until then, I'd never had it so clearly laid out just how alone I was._

" _However, if I'd made it to Burbank as intended, I believe I would have been able to suppress those disquieting thoughts by doing what I've always done. What I've always forced myself to do._

" _Don't dwell on the last mission. The only one that counts is the next one. Throw yourself into it. Don't stop and think. Just do._

" _But, this time, there was no mission. Nothing to focus my thoughts on. I've had the last two years to reflect upon_ _Ryker_ _'s words. Again and again. Two years to see how my life proved that he was right._

" _I had no one I could turn to. No one I could talk to. No one."_

 _His words are gentle. "Until now, Sarah."_

" _Yes, you're right. Not until now._

" _And that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. If it hadn't been for Kieran Ryker and that_ _reckless eighteen-year-old driver, this—what we_ _'_ _ve found together—wouldn't have happened._

" _I simply wouldn't have been ready._

" _In a twisted way, I have them to thank for giving me this opportunity."_

 _He looks at her thoughtfully. "I'm still not certain I completely agree with your assessment, but if that's what it took to bring Sarah Walker here, I'm thankful as well."_

 _..._

"Surely, you can't believe that this same woman would feel that innocent family members deserve to be punished any more than _she_ deserves to be punished for the sins of _her_ criminal father."

He stops, clearly waiting for her reply.

 _How does he keep doing that? Make me see myself through his eyes? Those beautiful, honest, caring eyes?_

Each time he does, it's another gentle but effective hammer blow to the foundation of the person she'd thought herself to be. Or, perhaps more accurately, the person her father, Graham and Bryce had made her _believe_ she was.

Each of them had only viewed her as an adjunct to themselves and their agendas. Shaped by word and deed to carry out her role.

Con artist. Enforcer. Partner and lover.

Not _one_ of them had ever encouraged her to look at herself, her life, with any sort of honest objectivity. No, to the contrary, they had actively _discouraged_ her from doing so, clearly aware that, if she did, she would almost certainly no longer allow herself to be molded by them.

But not Chuck. Over and over he's _compelled_ her (if that could be considered the right word for an action carried out so gently and so patiently) to evaluate herself in the light of truth. The truth of who she _really_ is, deep inside, not the multi-layered façade known as Agent Walker.

He's still waiting for her response.

She looks into herself. Strips away the overlaying emotions. Sees the truth of his words.

She's momentarily shamed. "No. You're right. There are things…I could never do. Regardless of the circumstances."

"Good. Because just the _thought_ of you taking that path makes me feel ill."

Softly, he goes on, "It would destroy _you,_ Sarah. The _you_ I've come to care for.

"You know that, right?"

Her response is quiet. "Yes. I know."

She moves closer, briefly kisses him on the lips. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For having faith in me. For reminding me to have faith in myself."

"How could I not, Sarah? After all the trust you've shown in _me_?"

His absolute sincerity no longer surprises her. Not totally, at least. But that doesn't mean that the warmth it sparks in her heart is any less intensely felt. She leans in to kiss him again, quite prepared, this time, to prolong and expand upon it. But then she remembers where they are and why they're here.

She pulls back, reluctantly.

"We should get back to the business at hand."

He gives himself a little shake. "Yes. Of course. I'll go and get Casey. But before I do, I like to say something.

"In the _abstract_ sense, the fact that you care for me enough to even contemplate going to those extraordinary measures is…kinda overwhelming. Humbling."

And with that, he stands and walks to the front door. Opening it he calls out, "Casey, we're ready."

…

"Yes and no."

"Chuck, you're confusing me. Was Evelyn Shaw a traitor or not?"

Casey growls in accord, "Yeah, make up your mind, Bartowski."

"Sorry. The flash I had about her was kinda…twisty. It's no wonder that no one saw the pattern. Only this thing," he taps his temple, "could put the pieces together."

He takes a deep breath. "OK, here we go. Evelyn Shaw was a CIA agent assigned to infiltrate Fulcrum. A double agent.

"The intel she initially produced was instrumental in bringing down several Fulcrum agents. Looking back, these were minor, essentially unimportant individuals, but that wasn't appreciated at the time.

"After some time passed, though, it was thought that she as actually working _with_ Fulcrum. A few Fulcrum-related CIA operations had gone off the rails, and suspicion fell upon her.

"She was brought in for interrogation. She admitted that she'd given Fulcrum the information. That it was necessary because they'd suspected she was working for the CIA. The only way to convince Fulcrum that she was on their side was to give them something. But she'd been careful to choose operations that were of minor importance and reveal them in a way that didn't result in any loss of life.

"Apparently, she was convincing. Graham let her go back into the field. Where she again produced _seemingly_ valuable intel.

"However, while there was no actual evidence she'd been turned, Graham eventually grew suspicious again and ordered her termination."

Chuck quickly glances at Sarah. "And that's where you came in."

She replies, tersely, trying very hard to keep her voice level. "Are you telling me I killed her based solely on Graham's _suspicions_?"

"So it would seem. But only the surface. The flash showed me otherwise. Evelyn Shaw may not have have been a traitor at first, maybe wasn't one until after Graham sent her back in.

"But, at some point, a traitor she surely became. I don't think anyone, including Graham, connected all the dots, but what I saw pretty much confirms she was instrumental in the death of at least a half dozen CIA agents. And the turning of a dozen more to Fulcrum's side."

He looks Sarah's way, quietly states, "Evelyn Shaw was far from innocent."

And with that, Sarah feels the burden she'd been carrying for all these years suddenly lift. Part of her had always wondered if the nameless woman she'd gunned down in the streets of Paris had been deserving of the brutal justice that had been meted out.

 _Now I know._

Evelyn Shaw had been a CIA agent. Had been well aware that the choices she'd made would result in the death of good men and women. Had known the price she would assuredly pay if knowledge of her treason came to light.

But she'd still chosen to go down that road.

 _You reap what you sow._

Not that this revelation will lessen the load of self-reproach Sarah has carried ever since that fateful encounter. Nor will it eradicate the memory of the gut-wrenching despair she'd felt as she watched the woman collapse, lifeless, onto the sidewalk. Or the recurring images of her fleeing the scene, finding herself, mere minutes later, in some filthy back alley, vomiting until there was nothing left but foul bile.

 _Innocence lost._

Casey speaks up, dragging her mind back to the present. "Do you think Shaw knew she'd crossed over?"

Chuck shakes this head. "Can't be certain, but there's nothing to indicate he did. The whole time this was happening, he was working tirelessly to bring down Fulcrum. He cut quite a swath through that organization. And as far as I could tell, none of _his_ operations were compromised. Being the straight arrow he is, I suspect he didn't breach operational security even with his wife."

Casey nods. "So we're asked to believe he never figured out that the woman who shared his bed was working against him the whole time?

"It seems so. That's likely why he's so keen to avenge her. _He_ thinks she was a loyal agent taken out by our people for no reason."

Chuck shakes his head. "I find it hard to believe he could be fooled like that."

"I don't."

Both men to turn to Sarah.

"I never had any idea Bryce was a traitor. Not until the very moment I was shown the evidence. Even then, I had a tough time believing it. Initially, at least."

She sees the inquiring look on Chuck's face.

"We're taught to mislead, misdirect, misinform pretty much from the first day we walked through the doors of the Farm. To the point that it becomes second nature.

"Make sure you've got your story straight. Make sure you never let your mark see the real you."

Chuck blurts out. "But he wasn't her mark. He was her husband. Supposedly, she loved him, at some point, at least. Are you saying it was all a sham, right from the get-go?"

She shakes her head. "No, not necessarily, although it's possible." She pauses. "How long were they married? Three years?"

"Yes. Three."

She thinks back to the man's file. "So Daniel was already involved in the fight with Fulcrum when they met. She could've have been a Fulcrum plant, assigned to get close to him, to find out the CIA's plans."

"You think so?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "Who knows? Regardless, we do know at some point she started to betray him. Emotionally, at the very minimum. Maybe physically as well."

"Why would you say that?"

"She needed to get intel from somewhere. It seems she either underestimated Daniel's loyalty to the CIA or chose not to use him. She may have had to go…elsewhere."

"How?"

"She was an attractive woman. She could've used that."

"Seduction?"

"Yes."

"They taught you that at the Farm?"

"Yes. The course was officially designated as 'Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel', but seduction school was the way most of us referred to it."

Casey growls, "Damn Montgomery failed me...twice."

Sarah manages to suppress a smile. Chuck looks confused.

She explains. "Agent Roan Montgomery. He's a James Bond type who somehow managed to fall into bed with a different woman, or sometimes, _women_ , on every mission. They felt he'd be a natural to run the course.

"He was very good at it, but even the best teacher has his or her…less successful students."

Casey grunts, but makes no further comment.

Chuck nods understandingly, but then asks, "Did you pass, Sarah?"

She's caught a little off guard by his question.

She flushes a little. "Yes. I did. But, to be fair, most of us did."

He looks acutely uncomfortable. "Does that mean they expected you to…you know…on a mission?'

"No, Chuck. We were taught that the art of seduction did not include the act itself. We were instructed on how to flirt, how to entice the mark into _believing_ he or she would get what was being offered. But at the same time maintaining control of the situation to make sure it never came to that."

His relief is clear. But then he frowns. "Sorta like what Forrest did to me the first time we met."

"Yes.

"But I will admit I've known of _other_ agents who did carry it through to the seemingly logical conclusion. It's possible that Evelyn felt that she had to go that far to get what she wanted."

"And Daniel never figured it out?"

"Chuck, how many times do we hear of spouses who've cheated without their mates ever knowing?"

"Yeah, you're right.

"But how could she do that and still love him? Assuming she did."

"She would have to compartmentalize. Keep her personal life separate from her professional one."

 _Like I've had to do. Until now._

"She possibly felt that by _not_ putting him into a position where he'd reveal classified information, even inadvertently, she was actually showing how much she cared for him."

"So you're saying she may have been showing him how much she loved him by cheating on him?"

"Yes. It's possible."

He shakes his head. "I don't see how anyone could do that."

 _I know. Another reason why I love Chuck Bartowski._

Casey pipes up. "Us chatting about what Evelyn Shaw did or didn't do isn't gonna do us any good right now. Shaw's not coming out here for some sort of grief counseling."

Chuck brightens. "Maybe we could show him what she had done? Shaw seems like a real patriot. Might that not make him stop and think?"

"He's already killed two guards, Bartowski. It's not as if he can drop this, say I'm sorry and everything goes back the way it was. He's committed."

"But—"

"He's right, Chuck. Shaw's in too deep. And we don't have any real evidence of his wife's malfeasance."

"What about my flash?"

She tries to clamp down on her fear, but her words come out sounding far harsher than she would like. "Chuck, Shaw, of all people, can't know about the Intersect. It's for your own safety. You understand?"

"But if that'll stop him from coming after you—"

"No. Don't even think about it."

He recoils for a moment, but when she gives him a tight little smile, hoping to take the sting from her words, he responds with a slow nod.

"OK. I won't say anything."

"Good. Besides, he wouldn't believe you. And even if we _could_ get our hands on the physical files, he'd just say there were faked."

Chuck's shoulders slump. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

She'd like to tell Chuck just how much she appreciates his efforts to defuse the situation without resorting to violence, especially in light of their recent conversation, but doesn't feel comfortable doing so in front of Casey. Instead, she flashes him another smile, a bigger one this time. hoping he can sense what she's trying to tell him.

He catches it, smiles, a little tentatively, back.

"We're not going to talk the man down, Chuck. At the very minimum, he'll have to be brought in. By force, I suspect."

At that moment Casey and Sarah's phones chime with an incoming text message.

Sarah slips her phone out of her jacket pocket, frowns as she reads the message. She looks over at Casey, who nods, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Chuck asks, "What was that?"

Casey reads out the message. _"Subject's current whereabouts unknown. Intel Indicates that Burbank is likely destination. Take all precautions. Additional security is being dispatched. Permission granted to terminate subject on sight. Beckman."_

"So you're allowed to shoot him as soon as you see him?"

"Yeah. It makes things a lot easier, kid."

Chuck turns to Sarah, pleads, "Could we not at least _try_ to bring him in?"

"We'll try." She glances Casey's way, sees, after a second or two, his choppy nod. "But understand this." She pauses to make sure Chuck is paying attention. "If there's even the slightest chance that doing so would put you or any other civilian in danger, Casey or I will put him down."

It appears Chuck might be about to balk at her statement but, before he can, she firmly states, "That is _justice_ in our world, Chuck. Shaw knows that. Knew that when he killed those two guards."

She can see Chuck picks up the slight emphasis she'd put on the word 'justice'.

He sounds a little weary as he acknowledges his defeat. "Yeah, Sarah. I've got it."

"Good." She looks down at her phone again, wishing the text could tell them more.

"We really could use more intel on Shaw's location."

Chuck raises his hand. "Maybe I could help there."

"How?"

"While we've been talking, I've been running a search program I wrote a while ago." He gestures towards Casey's laptop.

"Facial recognition?"

"Yeah, it includes that, but other things as well. The Intersect got me thinking, about how I'd often flash on people due to the way they walk, gesture and stuff like that. So I wrote a search engine that hacks into surveillance cameras and looks for those tells as well.

She can't keep the surprise and pride from her voice. "That's amazing, Chuck."

He flushes. "Well, that's my world, Sarah. I'm sure-footed in it.

"When I hacked into the CIA database, I found some videos of Shaw. Not sure what they were there for, but I was able to program some of his mannerisms into my program."

He stands and walks over to the table, sits down in front of the computer. "Time to check and see if anything has shown up."

Again, Sarah watches, fascinated, as Chuck slips into his world, a world where she would have no footing whatsoever.

A couple of minutes pass before he looks up from the screen, smiling.

"It worked. A camera picked him up at the Idaho Falls airport half an hour ago."

Chuck asks, puzzled, "Why would he go way up there?"

Casey replies, "To throw us off the track. No one would expect that he would go that far off course before heading to Burbank."

"Gotcha."

Sarah asks, "Anything else?"

Chuck looks at the screen again, presses a few keys. "Yeah. Got him at a rental car booth."

He pauses. "Let me guess. He's renting a car because he knows the CIA, the NSA and a few other alphabet agencies will be watching all the airports and train stations in LA and the vicinity."

Sarah smiles approvingly at him. "That's right, Chuck."

Casey asks, "How far is Idaho Falls from here?"

Chuck checks his computer. "Around nine hundred driving miles by the most direct route."

Sarah shakes her head. "He won't take the main route. He'll stick to the side roads and smaller highways. Less chance a camera will pick him up that way."

Casey responds. "That gives us a full day at least."

Sarah replies. "From what I saw in his file, I'd say two. He'll want to make sure he's rested before he gets here. And he'll want time to plan."

"So we have one, possibly two days to plan."

"Yeah."

"OK. First things first."

Casey looks between the two of them. "It'll be a lot easier if we only have to worry about one target. So I'm gonna suggest we sever—temporarily—whatever it is the two of you have going on here."

Sarah sees Chuck blush before he turns away. She can feel the heat in her face.

"Saw the kiss. And Grimes can't stop flapping his gums at work about 'Chuck and Sarah'. Practically has the two of you engaged."

Sarah ignores that, focuses instead on Casey's suggestion. "We thought about that, but concluded that a breakup out of the blue would be too obviously contrived."

"I'm not suggesting a break up so much as an old flame putting in an appearance, putting a monkey-wrench into the works."

Casey looks at Chuck, asks, "How many people here know what Roberts looks like?"

"Jill?" He sounds simultaneously angry and panicky. "You wanna bring Jill into this? I don't even know where she is, and besides, how could she help us or why would she want to help—"

Sarah jumps in. "Chuck, calm down. I don't think that's what Casey meant."

"You didn't?"

The Major shakes his head. "No, I just need to find out who in Burbank knows what she looks like."

Chuck takes a deep breath. "Just Ellie, Devon and Morgan."

"Good, then my idea could work."

Sarah asks, "Which is…"

"There's an agent we worked with a while back. She likes Chuck, so I'm pretty sure she would agree to play the part of Roberts once we explained what was happening here. He could pretend he's really missed what they had, wants to get back with someone he's has a history with, not with a woman he's only known for a few days."

Casey glances at Sarah. "No offense."

"None taken."

Chuck suddenly cuts in. "Casey, do you mean who I think you mean?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you weren't seeing her anymore."

"I never was _seeing_ her. We'd occasionally meet up between her assignments was all."

"But you told me she was trouble."

"She is, but I've gotten to like trouble."

Chuck shakes his head. "Still."

"Not your business. I'm not sticking my nose into your private life, am I?"

"No. You're right. Sorry."

"OK, guys what's going on here? Who are we talking about?"

Chuck smirks. "Casey's girlfriend is who."

Casey growls, "Can it, Bartowski," he scowls. "She's not my girlfriend, Walker, despite what the moron seems to think. But it just so happens she _was_ heading out here today. That's why we have enough time to set things in motion, assuming she agrees to do this. And it'll give us another gun.

"After he dumps you for her, she'll be able to stay close, freeing you and me up to deal with Shaw."

"Sounds feasible. Can we trust her?"

Chuck snorts.

Casey ignores him. "Yeah, on the important stuff, she'll come through."

"I'd like to meet her."

Chuck replies, smiling, "You already have, Sarah."

"Excuse me?"

At that moment there's a chime from one the security monitors. Chuck looks at the screen, smirks once again. "The perimeter alarm just picked her up. She should be here in a few seconds."

Casey stands, walks to the door. "I'll let her in."

She whispers to Chuck. "What's going on, Chuck?"

"Patience, grasshopper. All will be explained."

There's a knock on the door. Casey opens it. A slender arm, one that somehow seems familiar, reaches in and pulls him out of their view. There's what sounds like a kiss, followed by Casey muttering, "Not now. We've got company."

Sarah can't make out the woman's reply.

Casey walks back into the apartment, the woman trailing behind him. His bulk hides her from view. That is until Casey steps aside upon reaching the kitchen.

"Carina?!"

"Walker?!"

"What the hell—"

"—are _you_ doing here?"

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: You probably saw that coming from a mile off, but I felt we just had to bring her back into the story._

 _Reviews, comments, thoughts are always appreciated._


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: A chance to heal some old wounds._

 _Thanks to michaelfmx, my hard-working beta. Any errors you see are my responsibility._

 _As well, thanks to Zettel and Grayroc for their encouragement and suggestions._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _"You OK?"_

 _She shakes her head. Snaps at him, angrily, sarcastically. "No, Chuck, I'm not. I killed another agent's wife, for god's sake. How could I possibly be OK?"_

 _"I'm not suggesting a break up so much as an old flame putting in an appearance, putting a monkey-wrench into the works."_

" _Carina?!"_

" _Walker?!"_

 **Chapter Twelve: Redemption?**

Sarah jumps to her feet, torn by wildly conflicting emotions at the sight of the tall redhead.

She's so very glad to see Carina once again, hadn't realized just how much she'd missed her until this very moment.

But, at the same time, she can't fight off her anger, her disappointment.

It's plain to see that Carina has found the time to come to Burbank. More than once. This, even though she'd never been able, after that one instance, to make the time to visit Sarah in D.C. At her repeated invitations, Carina had consistently begged off, consistently giving Sarah the impression that the DEA always needed her for another mission.

And yet, here she is, obviously not on any sort of _official_ business.

Sarah can tell that Carina feels the awkwardness of the situation as well. The woman is normally impervious to shame or embarrassment, but Sarah knows her well enough to be certain she sees traces of both in the redhead's demeanor.

 _And why didn't Chuck tell me about this…whatever it is…between her and Casey?_

Unsure of her own feelings, Sarah doesn't make a move. Instead, Carina recovers first. She walks over and gives Sarah a quick hug, whispering as she does so, "Can we talk?"

After a moment's hesitation, Sarah nods choppily.

 _Concentrate on the mission, not your feelings._

Carina then steps back, says out loud, "Good to see you on your feet again, Walker. But why are you here?"

She replies, "I'm Forrest's replacement."

Carina absorbs that for a few seconds. "What happened? A house land on her?" She smirks.

That's one reference that Sarah does get. She smiles, thinly. "No, unfortunately not. The situation here has changed. Her presence was no longer required."

"What's changed?" Carina looks around the room. "Everything looks to be about the same."

Sarah opens her purse and takes out a set of keys. "Tell you what. Come with me and we have a little talk. And I'll explain. And why we need your help. OK?"

"My help?"

"Yes."

"OK. Where're we off to?"

"Just across the courtyard.

Sarah turns to the two men, who've stood as silent observers.

"Chuck, Casey, we'll be back in a bit."

Casey grunts his assent, but Chuck, instead of agreeing, steps forward and, placing his hand on her shoulder, quietly asks, "Sarah, could I have a word before you go?

She nods.

Casey speaks up. "Come on Miller, we'll wait outside."

The redhead seems reluctant to leave, clearly curious, but does follow Casey out the door.

After the door shuts behind them, Chuck quietly asks, "You OK? You seem upset."

"I am…a bit. I wish I'd known about the thing between her and Casey."

"I'm sorry. I guess I should've told you, but I thought they were done some time ago. And I had no idea she was on the way here.

"And as much as I kidded Casey, it is his personal life."

"I understand, Chuck. But there's also some stuff I need to sort out with her. We won't be too long."

"You seem angry with her."

"I am."

He nods. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but maybe you could give her an opportunity to explain?"

"Explain what?"

"Why she hasn't visited you, but could make time for Casey."

She gapes. "How...how did you figure that out?"

"I listened closely to what you said about her. You didn't say it outright, but I could tell you missed her. And now finding out she _could've_ come your way must hurt."

"It does. Especially since I had no one else I could talk to."

"Until you came here."

She nods, smiles, "Yes. Until now."

He gently squeezes her shoulder. "Remember, Sarah, she's your best friend. She deserves a chance."

Sarah shakes her head. "No."

He's taken aback. "You saying she doesn't?"

"I meant, no, she's not my _best_ friend. Not anymore."

"But maybe if you talk—"

She looks up into his eyes. "You are, Chuck."

He swallows heavily. It takes a few seconds before he's able to speak. "Sarah, I'm…I'm not sure what to say. It's just that you've known her for so long…"

"I seem to recall someone telling me that the amount of time that's passed is not necessarily the determining factor."

He blushes.

"What's good for the goose, Chuck."

"Yes, you're right."

He gives her a quick kiss, then nods briskly. "OK, time to get this show on the road. I'll go and get Casey and we'll toss around some ideas about how we'll handle Shaw. You go and have your talk with Carina."

…

As they pass the fountain, the redhead asks, "Where are we heading, Walker?"

She points. "Just over there. My place."

Carina's surprised. "You mean you're not staying in that green hellhole that Forrest inhabited?"

"No. Left it behind today. No plan of going back. Ever."

They reach the door. Sarah uses her key to unlock it and they enter. The smell of paint is fairly strong, but it appears the job may be finished as Sarah sees no sign of the painter's paraphernalia.

Carina looks around the bare interior appraisingly. "I like what you've done with the place."

"No call for snark. I haven't even moved in yet."

"No, I meant it. It's bright and cheerful. The opposite of that place you had in D.C. There was no there, there."

"What do you mean?"

"It was a place. To sleep. To put your stuff. Plain, white walls. Nothing else." Carina gestures, sweeping her hand around the room, "But this place has color, life. Like it could be a place to _live_ in, not just exist."

Sarah looks around, really sees the place for the first time.

 _A home? Maybe._

"Sorry about the comment. It's just that I've known you to be occasionally sarcastic."

Carina chuckles. "What? Me?" She looks around again. "No green. Good choice."

"Yeah, after seeing Forrest's place I was quite firm on that point."

Sarah looks at her friend, raises an eyebrow. "When were you there?"

"I worked an op with the team a while ago. Forrest called me in to lay down the law about my participation."

"Yeah, Chuck told me about that mission. Told me you were a loose cannon. I wasn't surprised."

The woman raises an eyebrow. "He did, did he? Did that come out while you were _debriefing_ him?"

"Can it, Carina. I'm not you. Nothing like that going on."

"You sure? He's pretty cute."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw the way you reacted when he put his hand on your shoulder. Usually, when a man does that, your instinctive reaction is to stiffen and give the guy a 'remove-your-hand-before-I-do-it-for-you' look."

"I don't do that."

"Trust me, you do. When we went clubbing, I saw it more times than I can count. Just for a split second, then you would make a conscious effort to loosen up. But it didn't come naturally."

"Your point is?"

"When Chuck touched you there was no hesitation. No thinking about what your reaction should be. You just relaxed, leaned in closer, looked him in the eyes."

Sarah can't stop the heat in her face.

"So what's going on, Sarah?"

"We're friends. We talk."

Carina looks at Sarah suspiciously. "Are you running some sort of op on Chuck?"

"What? No. Why would you ask that?"

"No way the Sarah I know makes friends that easily. Especially with someone who's not really in our line of work."

Sarah lashes out, unable the keep the anger she's been repressing from her voice. "That's the point, Carina. I'm not the Sarah you knew. If you'd come to visit more than that one damn time, you would've noticed that I'm not the same as I was. That all the crap that I've gone through has changed me."

Sarah sees a flash of Carina's no-shame attitude, but then the woman's shoulders slump. She hangs her head, her cheeks flush, whether from embarrassment or guilt, Sarah's not certain. Maybe both. In any case, it's not a reaction she can ever recall witnessing before.

"It was the lowest point of my life. But the only person I could've talked to, the only friend I had couldn't find the time to come and see me again.

"But you've somehow found the time to come out here."

Carina raises her head, her voice low. "You're right. And I'm sorry."

"Why? What kept you away?"

"When I saw you…when I saw what the accident had taken from you…

"You looked so frail. In so much pain. An invalid. So different from the confident, bold Sarah whom I'd worked with. And partied with. I wanted that Sarah back.

"But I didn't know what to do. I…I felt helpless."

"You didn't need to do anything, Carina. Just being there would've been enough."

"Yeah, I eventually figured that out, but by then it'd been so long that I wasn't sure how to approach you. I was too ashamed."

Sarah studies her friend's face, sees something unspoken in her expression. "There's another reason, isn't there?"

"Yes. I..I was…"

"Spit it out."

Carina almost shouts, her words echoing off the apartment's bare walls. "I was afraid. Absolutely gut-wrenchingly, bloody terrified."

She lowers her voice. "You happy now?"

Sarah doesn't know what to say. One thing she's never seen in Carina is fear, regardless of the seemingly overwhelming odds they've faced together.

"Afraid of what?"

"I was horrified that if it crap like that could happen to you, just out of the blue, it could also happen to me.

"For the first time in my life, I understood, really understood, that I'm not invincible. That maybe there's a bullet or knife or a bomb out there with my name on it.

"And I realized that all the garbage they fed us about dying gloriously in the line of duty is just a pile of crap. No matter how dramatic the exit, you still wind up being dead.

"I couldn't face that. I couldn't face you. Even talking on the phone was too much. Doing so would only constantly remind of my mortality."

" _We'd fight and never lose. For we were young and sure to have our way."_

She's surprised. "You know the song?"

"Yes, Carina, I do. The accident made me face my mortality as well. Made me face my life. What I've done. What I haven't done.

"It also robbed me of my self-confidence. To the point that I let myself stagnate. Meekly let them hide me away like some forgotten, unwanted relative."

Carina laughs bitterly. "And when you needed me, I was too selfish, too cowardly to be there."

She takes Sarah's hand, pleads, "Is there any way you can forgive me?"

Sarah can't recall ever seeing her friend shed genuine tears, but sees it now.

"Carina, one thing I learned from being here…from Chuck," Carina blinks at that, "is that we all deserve a second chance to make things right.

Sarah takes a deep breath. "It'll take some time for me to let this go."

"I understand."

"But I am willing to make a new start. Right here, right now. If that's what you'd like."

Carina manages a weak smile. "Yes, I'd like that. Very much."

Sarah moves in and hugs her. "To new beginnings, then."

"New beginnings."

After a few moments, Carina pulls back and, after dashing away a few tears, says with bit more of her usual irreverence, "Sarah Walker's a hugger now. You _have_ changed."

 _You don't know the half of it._

"We can discuss more about that later. Right now, I need to know if you'll help us."

"Yes."

"I haven't even told you what we need from you."

"Don't care. I'm in. No way I'm letting you down again."

This time it's Sarah who has to fight off the tears.

"Thank you." She looks around for a place to sit, but, of course, with no furniture the options are meager.

"Let's go into the kitchen and sit on the counter."

"OK."

They hop up onto the counter, their legs dangling over the edge.

Sarah turns her head, says seriously, "What I'm about to tell you, while not exactly a secret anymore, needs to be kept quiet, alright?"

"Gotcha."

"As I'm sure you've already figured out, Casey and Forrest were sent out here because of Chuck. The details aren't important right now, but he inadvertently came into possession of a massive government database known as the Intersect."

"A computer program?"

"Started out that way, but the images that formed its structure were downloaded into Chuck's head. When stimulated by what he saw or heard, he could not only recall data, but also connect seemingly disparate chunks of that data. For instance, when he saw you for the first time, your file would've become like an open book to him."

"He did give me a strange look the first time I met him." She adds, cheekily, "Not the kind of awe-struck look men normally direct my way."

She shrugs. "I guess my file could be a little intimidating."

Sarah dryly observes. "Yes, I suspect it would be rather…emasculating…for most men."

"Very funny."

Carina pauses, thoughtful. "You know, while I was here, I could tell he was hiding something. I tried to worm it out of him."

"You did? How?"

"Tricked him into coming to up to my room under the guise of a computer emergency. Had on this skimpy little red negligee set under a short robe, which conveniently slipped off just after I locked the door behind him."

From somewhere inside, Sarah feels a sudden surge of jealous anger. The thought of Chuck with Carina…

"I don't need to hear what went on in your room."

"No, you never did enjoy being regaled by my stories of conquest, did you?"

Carina pauses. Sarah's certain it's for dramatic effect.

"But you don't have to worry. Nothing happened. He wouldn't bite. Figuratively…or literally. Even a little bit. Which was a shame." She smirks at Sarah. "He's got nice teeth."

Her surge of relief, Sarah fears, is evident in her face. She tries to disguise it by turning away.

But it's a no go. Carina notices.

"What's he to you? You didn't even know the man back then."

"No, you're right. But he's a friend now. I don't want you trying any of your seduction tricks on him.

"Am I clear?"

Carina studies her closely before quietly replying, "Sure, Sarah. No tricks."

"Good. Now let me sum up what's going on here.

"A little over a month ago, the Intersect stopped functioning. Forrest wanted out, so I was sent out here to replace her."

"A make-work project." A statement, not a question.

"Yes, the Director was happy to be rid of me, and, frankly, I was happy to get out of D.C. I'm to be here for a year, to wind things down and make sure Chuck is safe from any remnants of the organizations that he and the team helped to cripple."

"OK. Then what?"

"I retire. Full benefits."

"Retire? How'd you swing that?"

"I'm a bad memory of a previous time, a previous director. The sooner they're rid of me the better."

"What'll you do then?"

"Like I told Chuck, I'll cross that bridge when I have to."

"Seems you and Chuck talk about a lot of things." Carina raises an eyebrow. "Just how close is your friendship?"

"Don't try to change the subject. The problem we're facing at the moment doesn't have anything to do with Chuck. Not directly, anyway.

"It's all to do with me."

"How?"

"You ever meet a CIA agent by the name of Daniel Shaw?"

"I'm not sure. I've met a lot of men."

Sarah doesn't rise to the bait. "About Chuck's height. Muscular build. Dark straight hair. Dark eyes. Ring a bell?"

Carina thinks for a moment. "No, I can't say that it does. Why?"

"In the course of completing my Red test, I shot and killed his wife. And now he's after me."

"Damnit, Walker! I always knew that your career path would come back and bite you in the ass one day."

Shrugging her shoulders, Sarah agrees. "Seems you were right."

"You still haven't told me where I fit in."

"Before I tell you, I need to know if you've ever met anyone connected with Chuck? Family? Friends? People he works with?'

"Just Casey and Forrest. She insisted I stay clear of the Buy More and his personal life. Figured I'd give her that if it meant I could get my hands on the diamond."

"Good. What we'd like you to do is pretend to be Chuck's ex-girlfriend from Stanford, Jill Roberts. That way, you can be close to him, protect him while Casey and I go after Shaw."

"Protect him from who?"

"Shaw. We're afraid he'll come after Chuck, to get back at me."

"Hold on. Why would Shaw go after Chuck to get back at you?"

Sarah chooses her words carefully. "There are some here in Burbank who believe that he and I are in a relationship. We hope that you stepping in will dispel that notion. Help keep him safe."

She pauses, can hear the determination, the fierceness in her voice. "Carina, I won't let him be hurt because of something I've done.

"OK, I've got that." She pauses. "You know, Sarah, I keep hearing over and over how you want Chuck to be safe, but nothing about any concern over your own safety."

"I can take care of myself."

"Yes, I've seen that you can. Many times. But you seem overly concerned about a man you've only known for a short time."

"I told you. We're friends."

"Just friends?"

Sarah suddenly finds the pattern in her kitchen floor tiles fascinating. "Yes. That's all."

Carina leans in close. "Sarah, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me there's nothing else going on between the two of you."

Sarah's reluctant to turn her head, afraid that she'll give herself away.

"Sarah…"

 _What happened to your determination to be a truth-teller, Sarah?"_

Ashamed, she turns. Faces Carina, her expression open, unguarded.

"I…"

"Oh, my god! You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Startled by her friend's intuitive leap, Sarah can only nod.

"You really are in a relationship. _That's_ why you need me to fool Shaw."

"Yes.

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did you know?"

"In the last day or so."

Carina shakes her head in wonder. "Let me make sure I've got this right. You're telling me it's only taken you a month to fall in love with Chuck Bartowski. That's damn quick, girl."

"I haven't been here a month."

"You said—"

"I said the Intersect stopped working about a month ago. I wasn't sent here until later."

"OK. So how long _has_ it been?"

Sarah replies. "Two."

"Two weeks?"

"Two days."

It's a day of firsts. Carina seems to have lost her ability to speak.

A full ten seconds pass before she manages to reply, incredulously, "Two days?"

Sarah nods, smiling at her friend's astonishment.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope."

"Are you out of your freaking mind? That's hardly enough time to get to know how a man likes his coffee, Sarah, let alone fall in love with him!"

"And yet, here I am."

"You're sure? It's not just some infatuation? Some sort of reaction to being out in the world after being in your dungeon for so long? That he's just not some sort of Prince Charming substitute?"

"Carina, I'm not some teenage girl with a crush. This is real. I never felt this way with Bryce, not even close."

Carina snorts. "No surprise there. Always figured the two of you were just a convenience for each other.

"Still. Two days. How?"

"I'm not sure myself. At first, I thought it was just a protective instinct. Life had already kicked him around pretty badly long before we came onto the scene and made it that much worse.

"But when I met him, something happened. Not good at first, but then it got better. Much better.

"I not sure I can explain it…" Sarah's voice tapers off, frustrated by her seeming inability to express herself.

Carina leans in closer, quietly asks, "What, Sarah?"

Sarah takes a deep breath. "Carina, have you ever been with a man who listened, really listened, to what you had to say? One who didn't judge you by word or deed? One who put forth every effort to make you feel good about yourself? Who believes that you're worthy of love even after all the stuff you've done in your life?"

A wistful look flashes across Carina's face, but she makes no direct reply. Instead, she asks, "How does he know about you? Was it that…that Intersect thingy?"

"No, I told him. Last night. Pretty much all of it. What I've done. Whom I've been."

Carina gapes at her. "Are you crazy?"

Sarah shrugs. "Maybe I am. Maybe love is some form of insanity."

"Always thought it was."

Sarah ignores the comment. Tightly gripping her friend's hand, she quietly, wonderingly, says, "Carina, he sees _me_. The contents, not just the container." She marvels. "And he hasn't run away, screaming. Even though he probably should."

"Damnit, girl, you've got it bad. I don't think I've ever heard you speak so…passionately. About anything…or anyone."

Sarah blushes. "I know. I'm not sure where that came from."

"I just wish I could have been here to see the moment when you _first_ realized how you felt."

"You're seeing it now, Carina."

"Not really. It's like seeing a baby's first steps. No matter how many steps you see afterward, it's not quite the same if you miss the first one."

It's Sarah's turn to gape. "Did you just make a motherly allusion?"

"Can it, Walker. Don't have to be one to know about that stuff."

Sarah grins at her.

Carina shakes her head, disbelievingly. "Sarah Walker in love. Who'd a thunk it?"

"Not me. I never expected this to happen. Never expected to find me here."

Her voice low, almost shaking, Sarah adds, "But I won't go back, Carina. Not back to the way it was. I was. I can't."

"He feels the same?"

There's no hesitation in her reply. "Yes."

Carina studies her for a few moments before quietly replying, "Well, if he means that much to you, he's at the top of my list as well."

"Thank you."

"But if he hurts you, you know I'll have to go after him."

She replies, confidently, "Don't worry. He won't."

"How can you be sure?"

Sarah looks inside herself. Searches for even a single sliver of doubt in her mind…or heart, but doesn't find it.

"I just know." She stares at the floor once more. "But I've hurt him."

Carina quietly asks, "How, Sarah?"

She doesn't reply for a few seconds. "When I heard about Shaw, my first instinct was to leave. To pull Shaw away from here. To keep Chuck safe.

"But he told me he was worried that I might not come back even if I did take care of Shaw. That I might feel he'd only be safe without me in his life."

She hangs her head. "He was right, Carina. I was ready to run away. From here. From him. For him. For good."

Carina places her hand on Sarah's shoulder. "What happened?

"He was angry, justifiably so. But, instead of turning his back on me, on us, he did something that completely surprised me."

"What?"

"He took me in his arms, informed me that he wasn't going to let me go, that we'd find a way to work it out. Together."

Sarah shakes her head, a small smile on her face. "He called me 'baby'. And I let him."

Carina grins. "That just further proves how far gone you are."

Sarah chuckles, ruefully. "I know."

A few seconds of contemplative silence pass before Carina changes the subject. "OK, you can tell me more later. What are we doing next?"

"All of us will have to meet this evening with Chuck's sister and husband. And Morgan, Chuck's best friend."

"Why?"

"They know about Chuck and the Intersect. I told them yesterday. And they're the only ones who know the real Jill Roberts. They'll have to be let in on the charade. And, of course, they need to know what's behind it."

"So, Jill Roberts. Guess I've had worse names. Seems kinda bland, though. What's she like?"

"No real idea. Chuck will fill you in tonight. And we'll sort out how you'll approach him at the Buy More."

"OK. When are we going to start the ball rolling?"

"Sooner the better. Tomorrow morning would be my guess."

Carina jumps down from the counter. Sarah follows suit.

"Sounds good. Guess I'll stay at Casey's tonight, then play it by ear tomorrow."

"Alright." Sarah hesitates before asking, "You two have something going on?"

"Kinda casual. We worked together before. In Prague."

"I had no idea."

She smirks. "Don't ask him about it. He'll just growl at you."

"Got it."

Carina looks at Sarah, her curiosity apparent. "By the way, have you two…?

"None of your business, Miller."

"I'll take that as a no."

Sarah puts on her poker face, doesn't reply.

Coquettishly, Carina adds, "You know, if you want, I could give him a few pointers over the next couple of days."

Sarah growls.

"I was just kidding! Where's your sense of humor, Walker?"

"Tell you what. After we take care of this mess, when I know Chuck's safe, we'll go out and have some fun. Until then, my sense of humor is on hold. Alright?

"Alright."

…

The next morning, Sarah, in an oversized tracksuit with her hair tucked inside a ball cap, and wearing dark sunglasses is inside the Buy More, waiting for the Carina to make her appearance.

The meeting the night before had gone about the way she'd expected. Except for one part which had caught her by surprise.

Before bringing Carina into the room, Sarah, with Casey backing her, had told Morgan, Devon and Ellie of the possible threat to Chuck's life. And why that threat existed. They were worried, had expressed their fears, openly and loudly, talking over one another.

But then Ellie had stopped the confused babble with a sharp word and said, "Hold on, guys. We're forgetting that Sarah's the one primarily in danger here, not Chuck."

Ellie had then stood up and walked over to her, quietly asked, "Are you taking precautions, Sarah?"

"Yes, Ellie, I am."

Ellie had then said, with some earnest, "Please do. We don't want to lose you. You mean a lot to all of us, not just Chuck."

Sarah remembers the tears she'd barely managed to hold back as she'd nodded.

Shortly after that, Sarah had texted Carina, asking her to join them.

After introductions had been made, Morgan, predictably, had fallen all over himself in his rush to gain the redhead's acquaintance, going so far as to kiss her hand and address her as Mademoiselle Carina.

After everyone had sat down again (Morgan squeezing himself between Ellie and Carina on the couch), Sarah and Chuck had explained what the plan was and the part everyone would have to play.

And now, while Casey was on overwatch (just in case Shaw _did_ show up early), Sarah had disguised herself so she could gauge the response to their little charade.

At the moment she's standing within ten feet of the Nerd Herd counter, pretending to be interested in a garish looking toy weapon that shoots some kind of foam dart.

The two Nerd Herders she remembers as Jeff and Lester are standing a few feet to one side, ignoring her.

Morgan is leaning on the counter, talking with Chuck who has his head down, typing, when Carina makes her entrance.

Sarah almost doesn't recognize her. Last night, Chuck had spent some time describing Jill, both in appearance and character. Carina had taken the lesson to heart.

She'd dyed her hair to a chestnut brown. Changed into a conservative skirt, with a white blouse buttoned almost all the way up. Round eyeglasses.

Standing near the entrance, she looks around, as if searching for someone.

Morgan, playing his part well, is the first to notice her.

He nudges Chuck's shoulder with his hand and in a loud stage whisper says, "Chuck! Look, it's Jill."

Chuck looks up. "Jill? Jill Roberts?"

"Yeah, look."

Carina, spying Chuck, walks, somewhat hesitantly, towards the Nerd Herd desk.

He looks appropriately perplexed, apprehensive, even a little angry, as Carina approaches.

 _He's good. Maybe he's channeling his real feelings about Jill?_

First of all, it's Morgan's turn to speak.

"What are you doing here, Jill? You come back to dump on my friend again?"

"No, Morgan." She glances pleadingly at Chuck. "I've come back to ask for his forgiveness."

"Forgive you? Why the hell should he do that?"

Chuck steps in. "It's OK, Morg. I'll handle it from here.

"Why are you really here, Jill?"

Carina doesn't reply for a second and Sarah can see the threatening tears in the woman's eyes.

 _Damn, she's good._

"Chuck, can we go someplace private?"

He shakes his head. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Morgan."

Carina gnaws on her bottom lip, then nods firmly. "Chuck, I was so stupid all those years ago at Stanford. I believed all that crap about you cheating. But I should've known you'd never do anything like that.

"I was foolish, running from you, running to someone else. I wanted to say how sorry I am. Can you forgive me?"

Chuck studies her for a few long moments. "It's a long time ago, Jill. Let's put it behind us. I forgive you."

The tears leaking out, Carina chokingly replies, "Thank you, Chuck."

"Is that all?"

She starts to nod, but halfway through shakes her head instead.

"No. There's something else.

"Is there any chance that you'd be willing… willing to take me back?"

"Take you back?"

"Yes. I've never stopped loving you. Even after all these years. No one has come close to taking your place. Not really.

"So I was hoping you might give me another chance?"

Chuck appears a little overwhelmed by Carina's plea.

"Jill, I loved you. You crushed me when you left. It's not that simple."

She grabs his hand. "I know. And I know I don't deserve it, but I'm begging you to at least consider it."

Chuck gives her an uncertain look.

"Please, Chuck. If you tell me there's someone in your life, I'll back off."

"No, there's no one." He hesitates. "OK, Jill, let's talk."

He turns to Morgan, "Will you punch me out for lunch, Morgan? Jill and I will head over to the pizza place."

"OK. But be careful."

"I will." As he steps out from behind the counter, Carina tentatively reaches for Chuck's hand. After a moment, he allows her to take it and they walk toward the front of the store.

Sarah's close enough to easily hear Lester's exclamation. "I knew it, Jeffery! I knew Grimes made it up."

Jeff replies, "Made what up?"

"The whole story about Chuck and the blonde. I knew she was too much woman for him."

"You actually saw her? I never did."

"Which goes to further prove my point. If they were together, the first thing he would've done is bring her here to show off."

"So when did you see her?"

"A few nights ago. I saw her walk out of the store around closing time. And talking to Chuck out front. Even then, I knew he didn't have a chance with her."

"How could you tell?"

"By her walk."

"Her walk?

"Jeffery, it's a scientific fact that the intensity of a woman's libido is revealed by her walk."

"Scientific?"

"Gait analysis, my friend. I read the article in Playboy."

Jeff comments, reverently, "The source of all truth about women."

"Amen to that."

"So what did her walk tell you?"

"That the blonde is a sexual dynamo, way out of Bartowski's league. She'd kill him within a week. It wouldn't have taken her, or him, more than five minutes to figure that out. Bartowski's too much of a coward to go down that road. Ergo, they could never have been together."

"Ergo?"

"Latin, Jeff. It means therefore."

"Oh." Jeff pauses. "What about when he was with Alexandra?"

"A man like Chuck Bartowski could never really get a woman like that. I don't what exactly what kind of sick game they were playing, but I always believed they were faking it."

Excitedly, the older man responds. "I did too, Lester. Remember what I told you?"

"Jeff, I'm only going to say this one more time. Alexandra Forrest is not a spy. Pretending to be with Chuck Bartowski was not part of her cover."

"But—"

"No buts. Spies do not come to Burbank. Let it go."

Jeff nods, blearily. "OK, Lester." Another pause, this time a little longer. "What about Jill? She was pretty hot too. Even with the glasses."

"Jeff, my frizzy-haired friend, couldn't you see it? The way she moved? The woman is obviously sexually-repressed. Probably hasn't been with more than a couple of men in her whole life. Clearly, much more the type for Chuck."

"Thank you, Lester. For educating me about women."

"No, problem, Jeffery." Lester looks around. "Now that we know nothing's going on with the Chuck and the blonde, I think I might give her a try. Watch out for her, will you?"

"But I don't know what she looks like."

"Doesn't matter. You see any tall, attractive blondes you call me. OK?"

"Right."

"In the meantime, we'll have to make sure everyone knows that Morgan was way off the mark."

"And that it was all based on science."

"Of course."

As the two men walk away, intent on their mission, Sarah chuckles to herself.

 _Part one accomplished._

 _Now to find Shaw._

 **TBC**

—

 _A/N: Next time we'll see our villain. Until then, thank you for reading and reviewing._


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: We're nearing the end._

 _Thanks as always to michaelfmx for his hard work. And to Zettel and Grayroc for letting me bounce my ideas off of them._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

 _Slight errors in the last section of this chapter. Now corrected_

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _Carina shakes her head, disbelievingly. "Sarah Walker in love. Who'd a thunk it?"_

 _"Not me. I never expected this to happen. Never expected to find me here."_

 _"So, Jill Roberts. Guess I've had worse names. Seems kinda bland, though. What's she like?"_

 _"No real idea. Chuck will fill you in tonight. And we'll sort out how you'll approach him at the Buy More."_

 _Part one accomplished._

 _Now to find Shaw_

 **Chapter Thirteen: Confrontation**

She sees nothing but her death in the man's dark eyes.

 _This would have been..easier…if I hadn't met Chuck. If I hadn't let his smile, his boyish enthusiasm, his belief in me, convince me that I actually had a second chance. A chance for a home, a family…a life._

A momentary bitterness wells up in her heart.

 _I was deluding myself. People like me never get the happy ending._

 _This. Facing the wrong end of a silenced pistol. This, or something like it, had always been the inevitability. The price you knew you'd pay someday. For who you were, for what you've done._

 _To think, to believe, otherwise, was the height of foolishness._

 _Stop. You're wrong. He gave you everything. He gave you hope._

 _He gave you love._

Her bitter self-recriminations vanish.

 _Thank you, Chuck. Thank you for giving me the best days of my life._

She feels her unshed tears, but they're not for herself, but rather for the man she'd come to love, so dearly, so quickly.

 _This will kill him._

As her executioner raises his pistol, it's not her past life that flashes before her eyes.

No, it's a vision of what might've been. A future she'll never have.

As his trigger finger begins to move, she tenses herself, knowing in her heart it's hopeless.

An ineffable sadness threatens to overwhelm her, to take from her any will to resist.

But she pushes it aside.

 _I have to try._

… _.._

 **Earlier.**

Sarah's pouring herself a cup of coffee when Casey rumbles, "They're back."

Walking over to the monitors, she sees Chuck and Carina walk into the courtyard, hand in hand. Even though she knows it just part of the act, she feels a little twinge of jealousy.

They go into Ellie's apartment.

After their conference last night, it was agreed that Carina would stay over at Ellie's, while Sarah and Casey stood watch at the Major's place. This morning she'd barely had a chance to say hello to Chuck before heading out to the Buy More to be in place for Carina's scene.

She feels…odd. Bereft.

 _I miss him. Miss being close to him._

She takes herself to task _. Get a hold of yourself. It's only been a few hours._

But as hard as she tries, she can't push the feeling away.

She tries to sound casual, but suspects her voice betrays her. "I'll go over and relieve Carina. I'll send her back here."

Casey, stone-faced, simply replies, "Sounds good."

She walks over to Ellie's, is about to knock, when Carina opens the door.

"Afternoon, Sarah," she smirks. "So, how'd I do?"

"You were good, Carina. Damned good."

She takes a little bow. "Thank you. No surprise there."

Sarah just shakes her head. She and Casey had returned directly to Echo Park after the little show, so she asks, "How did the rest of it go?"

"As we planned. After a long lunch, I took him back to that hell hole he works at. Chuck introduced me to his workmates, strongly implied we were considering getting back together. I told his boss that we needed some time, so, please, pretty please, could Chuck take the rest of the day off? And tomorrow? He agreed and I brought Chuck back here."

"Thanks, Carina. I overheard a couple of his workmates talking the whole thing over. They seemed to have bought it."

Sarah can't resist the jibe. "However, a couple of the guys also seemed to think you were 'sexually-repressed', so I'm not so sure their observations have any value."

"Damn. I guess I was even better than I thought." Carina raises an eyebrow. "Who was it? The spaced-out dude with the frizzy hair and his short, sleazy companion?"

"You noticed them?"

"Couldn't help it. They seemed especially anxious to make my acquaintance. Like all men."

She sighs, dramatically, the back of her hand held theatrically to her forehead. "It's just the burden I have to bear."

Sarah chuckles. "Well, you can head over to Casey's and bear it there. But no other baring. Got that?"

Carina huffs. "Of course. We're on duty." She opens the door wider, gestures for Sarah to come in. "I'll leave Chuck to you, then. He's in his bedroom."

She smirks as she fires her Parthian shot. "I trust you'll remember you're on duty too, Sarah."

Sarah feels the blush in her cheeks. Carina just laughs and walks away.

…

Shutting and locking the door behind her, Sarah quickly goes down the hallway to Chuck's room.

He's working on his computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. She figures he's trying to track down Shaw, but she has no real idea what he's actually doing. Just sees windows, some containing text and others with video, opening and closing with bewildering rapidity.

"Hey."

He looks over shoulder, smiles. The smile that, she's beginning to suspect, is for her and her alone.

"Hey, yourself."

She walks over, gently places her hands on his shoulders.

"Whatcha doin'?"

He sighs as he turns back to the monitor. "Looking for Shaw, but not having much luck."

She can feel the tenseness in his shoulder muscles. Without conscious thought, she starts to massage them. He immediately relaxes.

"Any developments on your end?"

"No, no signs. Nothing suspicious. We did have a brief power failure about half an hour ago. Only lasted about thirty seconds. But we lost our cameras, so we checked the perimeter. Didn't find anything. We looked into it and found out that a circuit breaker at the Magnolia Power Plant was defective. Just an accident."

"OK, that's good." He starts typing again.

"Chuck, may I ask you something? If it wouldn't distract you too much."

He swivels his chair to face to face her. "It's OK. Not getting anywhere right now anyway."

"I'm a little curious. You did a great job with Carina this morning. But you seemed to be genuinely angry and disappointed with our ersatz 'Jill"."

He scratches the back of his head, a little sheepish. "You noticed, did you?" She nods. "Truth is, I was angry. And disappointed.

"Seeing Carina standing in front of me, pretty much channeling Jill, brought back a bad time in my life. After she betrayed me, I used to think about what I'd do if I ever saw her again. I'd lie awake at night, going over in my mind what I would say.

"And today I had the chance to actually say something. To get it off my chest."

"I was wondering about that. So this was a little bit real for you."

"Yeah, even though it was just role-playing, it felt good. Liberating."

"I'm happy to hear that. But I will say this, if you were really upset, you didn't show it. You were actually quite kind and patient."

He chuckles ruefully. "Trust me, that wasn't the original mental draft. There were quite a number of expletives and a lot less forgiveness in that one."

She smiles at him. "Chuck, may I say something?"

"Of course."

"I don't believe you would've ever used that 'mental draft', regardless of how upset you were."

"You haven't seen me when I'm really angry."

"You forget. Remember when I walked into the Buy More?"

He looks even more sheepish this time. "Oh, I guess I did. It seems like such a long time ago."

"In some ways, it was. A lot's happened since then."

"A lot of good things, Sarah."

She nods, smiling. "I agree. But the point I was trying to make is this. Even though you were angry and frustrated, you restrained yourself, didn't resort to 'expletives'. And you apologized almost immediately afterward.

"It's not in your nature to be vindictive or cruel. Saying what you did to Carina, forgiving 'Jill', that's the real you."

"You think so?"

"Uh-uh. I noticed it almost immediately. It's a part, a big part, of what attracted me to you."

He ponders a moment or two. "Sometimes I've wondered if my being that way was a kind of...character fault. In high school, even at Stanford, I got the distinct feeling that others felt that made me...weak. That I wasn't aggressive enough."

She feels her anger flare, but she keeps her voice calm, as she firmly states, "Anyone who thought that was an idiot. It's what makes you strong. Turning away from conflict, being a peacemaker, takes far more courage than letting your passions rule."

Visibly moved by her praise, he quietly replies, "Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot to me."

"Simple truth, Chuck, but you're welcome."

Just then there's a beep from his computer. He swivels his chair around and studies the monitor.

"Any luck?

He shakes his head. "False alarm. Nothing since we caught a glimpse of what _might_ have been his rental car passing by that bank machine camera in Pocatello.

He looks over his shoulder, his frustration evident. After Chuck's program had tracked Shaw to Idaho Falls, they'd been hopeful that he'd be apprehended long before he became a threat.

However, after that encouraging beginning, they'd had no success.

"Why haven't they caught him, Sarah? There's a nationwide BOLO. And we gave the LEOs in Idaho all the information they should've needed. Car, license plate, probable direction of travel."

"He's a good agent, Chuck. Very clever. We're well trained on how to successfully evade the local authorities. And that in countries with much more video surveillance than we have here."

He turns back to his computer. "Still, they should've picked him up." He slams his hand on the desktop. "I feel helpless. I don't know what else I can do."

"Hey, it's OK. You've done so much already."

He snorts. "Yeah. Sure."

"Stop right there. You were the only one to figure out what Shaw was about, why he's coming after me. What Eve had done."

"It wasn't me." He swivels his chair around and taps his temple. "It was this damn thing that did the work."

"That's a load of bunk if I've ever heard one. You're the one who had to find a way past all the security measures. You're the one who dug deep and found the _important_ files, the _ones_ you did flash on. The Intersect didn't help you get there. It only kicked in after you, Chuck Bartowski, did all the hard work. You're the one who put all of that together."

"You really think so?"

"No, I _know_ so. The only people who should be beating themselves up are those who let him get to Graham's files in the first place."

 _And me for not standing up and saying no. Long before it came down to my Red test._

He smiles, reassured by her words.

"Thank you. Again."

Sarah's suddenly struck by the realization that, somehow, without her even being consciously aware of it, she's slipped into the role of his comforter. A protector of not only his body, but his heart as well.

She's puzzled. It all happened so…seamlessly. Almost as if, within her, there'd been a different person waiting to make an appearance. An empathetic one. A sympathetic one.

 _That isn't me._

 _Or is it?_

That night at Lou's, she watched him closely, She'd seen his distress, his despair, as he spoke of how they'd taken away any chance he'd had to lead something approaching a normal life. Forced him to deceive everyone he cared for.

 _Naturally, my heart went out to him._

 _Naturally?_

Then it hits her. _Of course. To be a comforter, you have to have someone to comfort. Someone with enough courage to admit, by word or deed, that they need consolation._

 _Someone strong enough to admit they are weak._

Chuck.

None of the people in her life prior to him had been willing or, perhaps more accurately, been _able_ to display such courage. So this empathic, sympathetic Sarah had, perforce, lain dormant while she'd led a life that actively discouraged the display of such tender emotions.

 _Lean on me, when you're not strong_

 _And I'll be your friend_

She feels an almost overwhelming surge of gratitude for this man looking up at her.

Earnestly she tells him, "No, Chuck, it's you who deserves the thanks. Which, by the way, I haven't properly done yet." She leans in quickly, softly kisses him on the lips. "Thank you."

He takes her hand and looks up into her eyes as he solemnly replies, "I would do anything for you, Sarah."

He repeats, "Anything."

She hears the promise of his words, sees it in his expression. She feels the warmth spread to her heart.

 _Not anything, Chuck. I will not let you lose yourself to save me. I can't._

She knows she shouldn't, given all that's going on right now, but she quickly turns and sits crosswise in his lap. He's clearly surprised by her action. Before he can further react, she takes his face in her hands and kisses him again, but much more thoroughly this time. It takes a second or two for him to respond, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her close.

After much too short a time, she forces herself to pull back just a little. Waits for him to open his eyes. Which he does slowly, dreamily.

"That was nice. Very nice."

"Yes, it was."

She hesitates, unsure how he'll take what she has to say. "Chuck, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything, Sarah."

"I appreciate that, but you need to listen to what I'm going to ask before you agree."

It appears he's about to object, but then nods. "OK."

"No matter what happens over the next few days, I need you to promise me that you won't put yourself at risk."

"What do you mean?"

"You have to keep in mind that Casey, Carina and myself are trained agents. We know how to handle dangerous situations. Perhaps one of us may be in some sort of danger in the next day or two. If you see that, or even think it, I'll need you to stay put and let us handle matters.."

"Sarah, I've faced some pretty dangerous—"

She gently cuts him off. "I know what you're going to say, but despite all of your..on the job training… during the last couple of years, you're not _really_ trained. Considering the circumstances, it's an absolute miracle that you weren't seriously hurt...or worse...during the last couple of years."

She kisses him briefly. "A miracle I'm eternally grateful for."

"Trust me. I'm pretty grateful myself." He smiles. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be holding the amazing Sarah Walker on my lap."

She feels the heat in her cheeks, is tempted, once again, by his lips so close to hers.

But duty calls. She stands.

"There's one more thing, Chuck.

"All of us are accustomed to using deadly force. If necessary and without hesitation. You aren't. And, while that's one of the things that makes you who you are, you being you could cost you your life."

"I understand."

"So you'll promise to keep clear and let us take care of Shaw?"

She watches his eyes as he thinks, sees them shift away.

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure I can make that promise."

She's taken aback. "Why? You said you understood."

"I do understand, but here's my problem.

"If I just stand back and let you get hurt…or worse, I don't think I could live with myself."

He pauses, looks intently at her. "Could you, if you were in my place?"

Caught off guard, she blurts out, "No, but that's my job…"

She stops as she sees the flash of hurt in his eyes. He turns away.

Bringing her hand to his cheek, she gently turns his face her way. She quietly apologizes. "I'm sorry. Taking care of you is not my _job_. Hasn't been since…before I even met you, I guess."

"Oh? How long before?"

She's happy to see the hurt disappear, replaced by curiosity.

"I'm not absolutely sure. Maybe on the plane, after I read over the files about you and the team. Maybe after talking with Casey or confronting Forrest." Shrugging, she adds, "It sorta snuck up on me.

"But it crystallized the first moment I met you. I promised myself I'd never let anyone hurt you. You were under my care, _willingly_ given."

" _Care_ at first sight, huh?" He chuckles softly.

She blushes. Just nods.

"Well, it was...care...at first sight for me too. I worry about you being hurt just as much as you do about me. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

"I do, but that still doesn't change the fact that I'm able to handle myself better than you. So you need to stay clear. Do you see where _I'm_ coming from?"

He looks stubborn. Doesn't reply.

She sternly admonishes him. "Charles Irving Bartowski." He winces at the use of his full name. "Do not make me get angry with you. You wouldn't like it. Not at all."

Despite her forcefulness, he's defiant. "Look, the way I see it is that I really don't have to be concerned about you being mad at me even if I do stick my nose in."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Why so?"

"There are four possible outcomes. In only one of them do I have to worry about being chewed out.

"In two of them, one of us buys the farm, so there'll either be no chewer or chewee. In the third, we're both gone, so no worries there.

"Only in the scenario where we both survive would I have to be on the receiving end of your wrath. If that's the case, and I have every confidence it would be, I'd be so happy you could chew me out all you want. I wouldn't care because you'd still be here. With me."

He gives her a cheeky, self-satisfied grin.

His whistle-past-the-graveyard attitude astounds her. _How can he speak so casually, so jokingly about losing his life?_

Then she understands. It's his way of coping with all that's been dumped on him. She's suddenly quite certain he's done the same thing, numerous times, with Forrest and Casey. Which, she's also certain, would've annoyed the hell out of both of them. She even more so than him.

But there's more to it in this instance.

It isn't as if he's unafraid. Sarah can see that plainly. But it's also clear that his fear is not primarily for himself.

It's for her.

Because he knows that, while this morning's little scene in the Buy More had likely lessened the danger to himself, it'd done nothing to reduce the threat hanging over _her_ head.

He's willing to risk his life. Not as he'd done before, largely motivated by a sense of responsibility or duty, but because he loves her.

Because her life is just as important to him as his own.

His inability to accede to her request is his way of showing her that. Even his seeming casualness about their potential fate is his way of saying that he'd rather go down swinging than let her be hurt. Or taken from him.

No one, not her father, not Graham, not Bryce, had ever shown such concern for _her_ welfare. Any apprehension they'd felt had, first and foremost, always been for the success of the con, the mission. It's not as if they hadn't cared for her. They had, each in their own way, but any consideration for her emotional and physical well-being definitely took a back seat to the task at hand.

She'd never known it could be any other way.

Until now.

It's clear that Chuck firmly believes her safety takes precedence over the job, even over his _own_ safety.

It's sobering and a little…scary…to think that someone as good as him cares for her that much.

And it's equally sobering and scary that she feels the same toward him.

 _How did this happen?_

 _Sarah, for once in your life don't question. Just accept it._

Without warning, she's suddenly overtaken by a yawn. "Sorry, Casey and I took turns on watch last night. Just grabbed a nap on his couch."

"I didn't get much sleep either. Ellie and Devon were both up early for their shifts, so that woke me up."

"Why would that wake you up?"

"I was sleeping on the couch. After I'd briefed Carina…extensively…about Jill, I let her take my bed."

"And how did she take that? You sleeping out there?"

He blushes. A little. He quietly replies, "She said something along the lines that if she was going to be a bodyguard she had to make sure the body she was guarding was always within reach. Preferably laying right beside her."

Sarah snorts. "Typical."

"When I turned her down, firmly, she told me I didn't have to worry, that she wasn't about to _jump_ anyone's claim."

"She used those words?"

"Yeah. She did. And emphasized the word 'jump'." He looks up her, a curious expression on his face. "What do you think she meant?"

She hesitates. "Chuck, you know Carina's a bit of a flirt."

He raises an eyebrow, snorts. "A bit? That's a classic understatement. The first time she was here, she tried to seduce me. Wearing nothing but lingerie. Skimpy lingerie."

"Yeah, she told me about that." She pauses. "And when she told me you'd turned her down, I was proud of you."

"Why?"

"Most men would have jumped at the chance."

He shakes his head. Looks at her closely. "That's not me, Sarah. Jumping casually into someone's bed."

"No, I never thought it was. But she can be very…persuasive. Saying no to her takes strength and courage. Qualities you possess in abundance.'

He's embarrassed by her praise, so to spare him, she moves on.

"Anyway, she figured out how I feel about you. So I told her to back off."

"Let me get this straight. _You've_ claimed me. Is that right?"

She blushes. "I suppose I have."

He sounds serious. "I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm not some inanimate object to be possessed by anyone who comes along."

She gulps. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply..."

Her voice tapers off as he flashes her one of his nose-crinkling grins.

"Just kidding. Being claimed by someone like yourself is no problem, trust me."

Sarah punches him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For kidding around about something serious."

Rubbing his shoulder, he replies, contritely, "Alright, alright. I won't do it again. I promise.

"But only if you promise me something."

"What's that?"

"That you won't be upset with me if I ever sorta...you know...claim you." He looks at her hopefully.

She stops, realizes that she already feels claimed. Just not...officially.

She smiles. "No, Chuck. That won't be a problem. I promise."

"Good." He looks relieved.

He turns back to his computer. "I should get back to the search."

"And I need a quick shower."

He turns to face her. "Here?"

"Yes, if that's OK with you?"

"Of course. I would, however, ask you to make sure the bathroom door is closed. Otherwise, I might get…distracted.

Flirtatiously, she leans in, whispers in his ear, "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

He freezes for a moment. "No, of course not."

 _Not yet, anyway._

 _After._

"I'll just grab some things from my place."

"OK. See you in a bit."

She leans in, kisses his cheek.

He returns to his typing, his expression slipping into his adorable concentration face.

She looks into her purse, sees her apartment keys resting on top of her pistol. She fishes them out and heads over to her place.

 _My place? A home? With Chuck sharing it?_

She laughs at herself.

 _You're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you? You haven't even got furniture yet._

She inserts the key into the lock, opens the door and enters the darkened apartment, keys in hand.

 _Need to open those curtains. I've had it with darkness._

Shutting the door behind her she gropes for the light switch.

 _What did someone say? You don't really know your home until you know what all the switches do? And know where they are, instinctively?_

She chuckles again.

"Hello, Sarah. I've been waiting."

She turns.

Shaw.

Standing in the shadows.

A pistol held down by his side. That it's not pointing at her means nothing.

He stands close enough to ensure that he won't miss, but far enough away that there's no chance of her covering the distance between them before he shoots her down.

Just as he'd been trained.

Just as she'd been trained.

Her hand goes to her purse.

His voice is flat, stripped of emotion. "Don't. You'll be dead before you even get close. And that would be a pity, because you and I need to have a little talk."

She stops.

"Put the purse on the floor. Slowly. And kick it over to me."

She follows his instructions. He doesn't even glance at the purse as it stops its slide right in front of him. He kicks it aside.

She spits out his name. "Shaw."

"Daniel, please, Sarah. Since I'm the last person you're ever going to see, I think it only appropriate that we be on a first-name basis.

"After all, taking someone's life is, in some ways, the ultimate act of intimacy, don't you think?"

It's the last thing she wants to do, give the man any satisfaction, but she quickly realizes that if there's to be any hope of getting out of this situation, she has to play along. Stall for time. Maybe Casey or Carina will somehow catch on.

She moderates her tone. "Daniel."

"That's better. Thank you.

"I'd wager you're wondering how I got here, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"It's quite marvelous how little money means to you if you know you have no future to worry about. Private plane at a private airfield. The whole Idaho Falls scenario was just to distract you. Paid someone who looked a bit like me to drive the rental car."

"Let me guess. You came in the back during that blackout?"

"Yes. A supervisor at the power plant is now substantially better off than he was yesterday. And the loose cordon Beckman had established around the area was ridiculously easy to penetrate."

He gestures with his free hand, however, never taking his eyes from her. Not for an instant.

"I'm glad we met here.

"This place serves as a perfect metaphor for people like us, doesn't it Sarah? Attractive and warm from the outside, but empty and cold on the inside. Devoid of any real life. Like a whitewashed grave, full of dead men's bones."

He pauses briefly. "You know, that's why I was attracted to you. I realized that we were both...vacant. And I thought that maybe, just maybe, together, we could find a way to somehow...fill…each other once again. Find some small measure of joy in this miserable existence."

 _Not in a million years._

"You should've taken me up on my offer back at Langley. Instead, you refused rudely, dismissively. If we'd gone out, gotten to know each other…became intimate, I might have found some way to rationalize what you'd done. I might have found a way to let you live.

"Oh well, water under the bridge."

"You know, you won't get away with it, Daniel. Eventually, they'll track you down. And you won't be getting any star on the wall at Langley when they do.

"You'll just be dead."

He shrugs. "Been dead for quite some time now."

He muses. "I wasn't always this way, you know. When I met Eve, came to love her, she warmed me. Filled me with love.

"What's that saying? Oh, yes, 'Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh'. We became one flesh, Sarah. A single person in two bodies. She was more than my better half, so much more.

"We were happy. I was happy." He stops, looks perplexed. "I used to laugh."

He focuses again. "And then you killed her. Killed me."

"She was a traitor, Daniel. She betrayed her country. She betrayed you."

He shakes his head angrily, the first sign of emotion she's seen.

"No! It was all a lie. She was loyal to her country. To me. It was Graham's paranoia that brought all this upon us."

He pauses. "When I broke into his private files, read 'The Family Jewels', I finally saw him for what he'd been. A heartless, manipulative bastard.

"It's unfortunate that he's already dead because I would've loved to see him suffer. Beg for his life as I stood before him.

"But he's gone. You're here. That'll have to do.

"Oh! By the way, you might be interested to know that Graham had made a notation in your private file. A contingency plan to make sure you were permanently 'retired' if you became a danger to him or an embarrassment to the CIA. A notation, by the way, seemingly endorsed by our current boss. His words were along the lines of, 'Look into this,' if I recall.

He shrugs. "I'd tell you to watch your back, but, considering why I'm here, there's not much point to that, is there?"

She replies sarcastically, "I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

He ignores it, just continues on in a voice free from inflection.

"You know, I'd always wondered who it was that murdered her. Hoped that whoever it was had been...humane…human. That Eve saw in her killer's eyes some level of remorse, reluctance…so that her last thoughts were at least somewhat…pleasant."

His voice hardens. "But when I found it was you, I knew she'd even been cheated of that small consolation."

"Agent Sarah Walker. Killer nonpareil. Bringer of death. Without compunction. Without heart. Without soul.

"A machine. Not a person."

"You're wrong, Daniel. Don't presume to know me."

"But I do know you. Because I know what our business does to all of us, but especially to those who specialize in your...line of work."

"You're like tainted meat. Unfit for _human_ consumption. Perhaps you should've worn a little sign to that effect around your neck."

She bristles—internally. Keeping her voice level, she replies, "Not everyone feels that way, Daniel."

"How can they not, Sarah? Anyone who feels different is either certifiable or doesn't have any idea who you really are. What you've done."

She wants to scream out, _"You're wrong. There's someone who he sees me as a person. A worthwhile person. Who loves me despite everything."_

But she restrains herself. Drawing attention to Chuck can't possibly be of any value. It'd only add to his danger.

She stubbornly repeats herself, "Not everyone feels that way."

"Ah! That would be your charge, the inimitable Charles Bartowski, unless I miss my guess. I read the file."

She doesn't respond.

"What did you do? Tell him some sad cover story? Pour on the crocodile tears to fool him into believing that you were anything more than an empty space, a vacuum?"

She stands mute.

"Did you seduce him, Sarah, take him to your bed because you were bored and needed a little distraction?"

Stone-faced she makes no reply.

"You needn't worry. I've no intention of harming him. Because while I suspect he fell in love with you quite quickly, you're incapable of reciprocating any such tender feelings. To anyone.

"So me killing him would mean no more to you than if I'd swatted a fly. All I'd be pricking would be your professional pride. Nothing else."

He smiles. A smile without feeling. Or meaning.

"Besides, I feel a little sorry for the man. He has no idea what kind of serpent he's taken into his bosom."

"And unlike you, I get no joy from taking a life. Not even yours."

He smiles, more of a grimace. "Well, a little joy.

"Which I think we should get to now. I've said all I need to say."

…

As his trigger finger begins to move, she tenses herself, knowing in her heart it's hopeless.

An ineffable sadness threatens to overwhelm her, to take from her any will to resist.

But she pushes it aside.

 _I have to try._

 _..._

The door behind her bursts open, bringing light with it. But she daren't turn from Shaw, lest she miss even the tiniest opening. Any chance at all.

Chuck's voice is excited, worried.

 _No! Chuck, run!_

"Sarah! I think Shaw is in LA! He may already be—"

She watches in agonizing slow-motion as Shaw's pistol shifts away from her. Watches as he squeezes the trigger. The puff of smoke. The slide moving back. The empty shell casing being ejected. The slide moving forward.

She hears Chuck tumble to the floor. She knows that sound all too well. The sound of a body deprived of conscious control.

The sound of the dead.

It takes all the willpower she possesses to not run to him. But if she does she'll only be dead too.

And Shaw won't be.

His pistol starts to swing back towards her.

Her howl of abject pain, of all-consuming fury, is animalistic, otherworldly. It echoes off the empty walls. Startles him.

With a flick of her wrist, she flings her apartment keys at his face.

He flinches, only for an instant, as the keys narrowly miss striking him.

But it's enough.

She covers the distance between them in a heartbeat.

Almost contemptuously, she uses her left hand to bat aside his pistol. It goes off and part of her is aware of the bullet shattering the glass of the front window.

She uses her right hand to strike at the pressure point just above his elbow. His temporarily nerveless fingers release the gun. It clatters to the floor.

Sensing, rather than seeing, his left arm swinging towards her face, she ducks. His fist only glances off her cheekbone, but it's enough for her to see stars.

She falls to her knees before him. She looks up, sees him raise his left hand, fist cocked, ready to finish her.

 _No. Not this way. Not without taking him with me._

With every ounce of strength she possesses, she slams her fist up, into his groin. He grunts, doubles over in pain as she thrusts herself from the floor, her head connecting with his nose.

She feels it, hears it break.

He staggers a few steps back. But he's tough, shakes his head once, twice, drops of blood flying off, and comes at her again. Roaring his anger.

She knows if he can get close enough to use his mass and superior strength, she's finished.

She dances aside from his headlong charge, and, as his momentum carries him past her, she leaps and sends her foot crashing into the back of his head.

He staggers, almost falls, but turns back to face her once more. But it's clear that he hasn't fully recovered his senses.

Without hesitation, she goes on the offensive.

She flashes her foot towards his groin. A feint. His instinctive reaction opens him up. She crashes the heel of her palm into his broken nose.

He howls in pain. Brings his hands to his face.

She drives her fist into his chest just below the breastbone. He's heavily muscled, but she is the unstoppable force. She hears the breath whoosh from his lungs.

He bends over, gasping. She smashes her elbow into the base of his skull.

He falls, face first, to the ground, with no attempt to protect himself. He lies motionless.

She straddles him. Reaches down and pulls a knife from her ankle sheath. Grabs his hair and pulls up his head. Puts the knife to his throat.

She hesitates. Hears Chuck's voice in her head. _Sarah! Stop!_

"Sarah! Stop!"

She looks up.

Chuck stands in front of her, shakily, a lump rising on his forehead.

Her berserker rage flees.

She's not certain she believes her eyes. Her voice cracks.

"Chuck? It's you? You're alive?"

He senses her disbelief, earnestly replies. "Yes, Sarah. One thing I've learned to do well these past few years is get out of the way when bullets are flying. Unfortunately, I didn't remember where the door frame was. Knocked myself silly."

The knife drops from her hand. She stands, shaky herself now that the adrenaline has dissipated.

Her voice is small, childlike. "You're really OK? You're really here?"

His voice is reassuring, warm. "Yes. I expect I'll have a hell of a headache, but you're hurt. Your cheek—"

He has no chance to finish his sentence because she's suddenly in his arms, his head in her hands, frantically kissing him, again and again, laughing even as she sobs, wetting his face with her tears.

She's dimly aware of Casey and Carina storming through the door, guns drawn.

But she doesn't care what they see. What they hear.

She clings to him. She's not about to let him go.

Ever.

A few minutes pass before she's able to speak. Her words come out in rush. "I thought you were dead." She hiccups. "That my life was over." Hiccup. "That the only thing left was to take Shaw with me into hell."

Casey interrupts with a grunt. She looks his way.

"Shaw's already halfway there, I expect." His voice is tinged with pride, respect. "Seems you handled yourself pretty well, Walker."

Carina, with Shaw's pistol in her hand, smirks. "Hell hath no fury like a woman, hey, Sarah?"

"I'm not scorned, Carina." She looks into Chuck's eyes. He smiles. Nods. She looks back to her friend. "Not in the least."

"Sickeningly aware of that, thank you. But the fury part is certainly appropriate, don't you think?"

Sarah looks down at Shaw. He's handcuffed, laying on his side, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes through his mouth. His eyes are already starting to blacken, though the bleeding has stopped.

"Yes, you're right."

Casey hands her the knife. "Seems this fell out during the fight. Just as well you didn't need to use it." He looks her in the eye. "It would have made a real mess if you had. Hard to clean up after something like that."

She catches his meaning. Taking the knife from his hand, she agrees, "You're right. It must've fallen out by accident.

"I'll have to be more careful in the future."

"I'm sure you will."

She looks at her friends. "How did you know?"

Carina replies. "Heard that god-awful howl of yours. Least I assume it was you and not some demented urban coyote on crack. That and the bullet lodging itself in Casey's door kinda got our attention."

Casey interrupts as he slips his phone back into his pocket. "Clean up crew is on the way."

He gives both Chuck and Sarah an appraising look. "You'd better get your boyfriend to the hospital for a check-up, Sarah. Judging by the size of that lump he might have a concussion. And you might want to get your cheek looked at."

Sarah reaches up, realizes for the first time that she's bleeding, not a lot, but enough to stain her fingertips.

"You'll be OK here?"

"Yes, go ahead. Carina and I will take care of things."

She hesitates.

Carina jumps in, turns Chuck toward the door, then does the same for Sarah. Then she gives each of them a gentle shove. "Go! Get outta here. We'll be fine."

…

They're a mile down the road, heading to Westside Medical before Sarah can find the courage to broach the subject.

The sheer, joyous almost overwhelming relief, that they'd come through, relatively unscathed, had pushed every other concern from her mind. But, as she'd sat down in the driver's seat, her words—her promise had come back to her.

She looks over to the passenger seat. He's quiet, rubbing his temples, eyes closed, the headache he'd presaged obviously having arrived.

She hesitates, wonders if she should put it off until he's feeling better,

 _No, if I don't deal with it now I may never have the courage._

She pulls the vehicle over to the side of the road. Turns off the engine.

"Chuck?"

He turns to her. "Yes, Sarah?"

"I've broken my word to you."

He's confused. "Excuse me?"

"I promised you that Agent Walker was gone. That we were rid of her. I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

She takes a deep breath. Answers with a question. "Chuck, how much _did_ you see back there?"

"I was kinda groggy after I picked myself up from the floor. It was a little hard to see things clearly. And it was a little dark."

She senses he's trying to spare her, but she needs the truth.

"You did see me put the knife to his throat, didn't you?"

It's his turn to hesitate. He looks down at his feet, before quietly responding, "Yes. I did."

After a few long seconds, he adds, "It terrified me."

There's a finality in his words. An acknowledgment that what he witnessed is more than he can possibly take on.

 _It's over._

She's crushed, her heart pulverized.

But, deep down, she'd always feared this. His _hearing_ about who she'd been, even from her own mouth, was nothing compared to actually _seeing_ Agent Walker, the enforcer, in action.

 _How could anyone not recoil from that? Anyone normal._

She chokes back a sob. She reaches for the ignition. Barely manages to squeeze out the words. "I understand. I'll contact Beckman and my boss tomorrow. Tell them they'll need to send someone to take my place."

He looks at her as if she's lost her mind. "Why..why would you do that? I thought you..cared for me?"

"Chuck, how can I stay here if all I do is terrify you? If every time you look at me all you can see is a woman willing to do...what I came close to doing? What hope would there be for us?"

"No, no! Idiot!" He's about to whack himself in the forehead, but fortunately catches himself in time.

"That's not what I meant."

He takes a breath. "Given the same circumstances...if I thought Shaw had...killed...you, I don't know if I would've stopped until he was dead."

He looks at her with pleading eyes. "That's what terrified me, Sarah. The thought that I could kill someone given the right conditions. Not in self-defense. Not to save someone."

He looks away. "Just for revenge."

Her relief is immediately displaced by her concern for him. She takes his head in her hands, turns him to face her. "No, Chuck! You would never do anything like that!"

He shakes his head. "You can't know that, Sarah, not for sure. Hell, I'm not even sure."

"Yes, I can. I know _you_. You, Chuck Bartowski, are incapable of such acts."

"And by that, you're implying that _you_ are?"

She flushes, caught off guard by his question. "Chuck, I've told you about the things I've done. I've carried out my orders."

"I'm not asking about then. I'm asking about now. Would you have done it if I hadn't been there to stop you?"

"I...I don't know. Not for sure. I had the knife to his throat when I heard your voice...in my head...telling me to stop. I hesitated. And then you were there, really there. And I did stop.

"But if you hadn't...I don't know. I just don't know."

He takes her hand, softly says, "I know. You wouldn't have done it, even if I hadn't been there to actually say the words."

She looks into his eyes, wanting so badly to believe him. To believe in herself.

He recognizes her desperation. "Whoever you believed you were before, whatever roles they forced you to play, you're not that person anymore."

He's excited, words tumbling out. "Don't you see, Sarah? Your coming to Burbank, to me, this was, is, your chance to be the person you really are, that you always were. Not the con artist, not the agent, just you.

"The woman I would choose to spend the rest of my life with."

She gapes. "Chuck! What are you saying?"

He looks startled by his outburst. But he doesn't walk the words back. Not completely, anyway.

"That's not exactly the way I wanted to ask you. Or the time and place. But I mean them, more than any other words I said to anyone."

He pauses to take a breath before quietly adding, "Sarah, I don't expect you to answer, because I know it's much too soon, but if you can just keep it in mind for some point in the—"

She places her fingers gently on his mouth, stopping him mid-sentence.

"Chuck?"

He nods, with her fingers still in place.

"Yes."

—

A/N: An epilogue and then we're done.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: After encouragement from a number of readers, I've decided to add at least one more chapter before we finish with this tale._

 _I thank Zettel and Grayroc for their kind advice and and insightful observations._

 _And of course, my hard-working beta, michaelfmx, deserves praise for his continued hard work. Any errors you see are my responsibility._

 _A little experimentation in the first part._

 _Don't own Chuck, et al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _"Hello, Sarah. I've been waiting."_

 _She turns._

 _Shaw._

…

 _He's excited, words tumbling out. "Don't you see, Sarah? Your coming to Burbank, to me, this was, is, your chance to be the person you really are, that you always were. Not the con artist, not the agent, just you._

 _"The woman I would choose to spend the rest of my life with."_

 _She gapes. "Chuck! What are you saying?"_

…

" _Yes."_

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN: AFFIRMATION**

"Yes."

Such a tiny word.

 _Yes._

Life-altering.

 _Yes_.

Resetting her north, again and again.

 _Yes, Dad, I'll go with you._

 _Yes, Director, I'll do as you order._

 _Yes, Bryce, I'll share your bed._

Self-deception.

Yes.

 _Because I don't know any better._

Yes _._

 _Because it's for the greater good._

Yes _._

 _Because I won't be lonely anymore._

Far too many yeses.

Not nearly enough noes.

Each injudicious yes taking her down tortuous paths.

Wrong paths.

Wrong for her.

Wrong for so many who'd had the misfortune to have their lives, even briefly, intersect with hers.

Just… _wrong._

She looks at Chuck.

 _Maybe this yes is wrong too?_

 _Wrong for him?_

 _Wrong for me?_

 _Wrong for us?_

She searches her heart, waiting for the no she'd always heard.

The no she'd ignored all those times.

But it never comes.

He smiles.

Wonder.

Joy.

Love.

Her apprehensions vanish.

 _Yes_.

…

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

She nods, grins. "Yes, Chuck. I'm sure."

And she _is_ sure, surer of this _yes_ than any other in her life.

He nods. Eyes glistening.

She feels her own tears in response.

He's careful, gentle, makes sure he doesn't touch her injured cheek as he leans closer, brings his lips to hers.

She, in turn, is careful to not bump his damaged forehead with her own.

She takes his head in her hands.

Their kiss starts as a tender affirmation of their commitment, but it rapidly threatens to spiral out of control. That is, until the barrier of the center console provides a reminder that a Burbank city street in broad daylight isn't the time and place. As well, their mutually stifled groans when passion leads to a lack of caution serves to check their actions.

She pulls back. Breathless. "We should get to the hospital."

He appears equally short of air. "Yeah. Before I hurt your cheek again. Sorry. Got carried away."

"It's OK, don't worry. Your head?"

"I'm good. Kisses like that tend to mask pain." He winces. "At least temporarily."

She asks, "You want to call your sister?"

He shrugs, uncertainly. "That's simultaneously a great idea and a terrible one. She's the best, but she's gonna fuss and worry over us. Mother us. Especially when we tell her what happened."

"She'll need to know sooner or later, anyway. Right?"

He sighs. "Yeah, you're right."

He digs out his phone.

"OK, off we go." She pulls out onto the road.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, Chuck?

"I love you."

She stops at the red light.

At this moment it occurs to her that he's the only person to have said those _actual_ words to her.

Flat-out. Without adornment. With absolute sincerity.

A few of her marks had mouthed similar sentiments. Perhaps out of the hope that words such as those would be the final ones needed to bring her to their bed. Perhaps out of a genuine infatuation with her current persona. Either way, it'd never meant anything to her. Lies or lapses in judgment, is all.

Her father had somehow avoided those three words altogether, flirting with them but never able to bring himself to the point of making an unequivocal declaration.

And Bryce? Well, he'd always felt that his actions spoke for him. Any woman who was privileged enough to be with him would just have to accept that.

She desperately wants to return Chuck's words. In the same manner.

But her mouth goes dry. Her tongue cleaving to her palate. She'd answered his query about her love for him with a nod. Had admitted it was because she loved him that she felt she had to leave him. But she's never actually said those three little words by themselves.

To anyone.

Even on missions, when she had to deceive her mark into believing that she cared for them, she'd never used that exact phrase, part of her unwilling to cheapen them for the sake of expediency.

Somehow, in her mind, to say them is a final, irrevocable step. An undeniable commitment.

Real.

In some ways, they mean even more than her _yes_.

It's frightening.

 _Stop._

 _Think._

 _Remember._

For so many long, lonely years, her heart had lain fallow.

Empty, seemingly barren.

Waiting for the warmth of a spring that never came.

Waiting, always waiting.

To _be_ loved.

 _To_ love.

 _And now, when that love is right in front of me, I'm a coward?_

 _No._

 _I love you, Chuck._

She speaks, letting her inner voice reign.

"I love you."

The light changes to green.

They move forward. The road ahead free of obstructions.

...

"No, sis, I'm fine." Pause. "Yes, Sarah's fine, too. Just a little beat up." Pause. "We'll tell you when we get there." Pause. "Yes, I promise. Bye."

Chuck slips his phone back into his pocket.

"Ellie's free right now. She'll meet us in the ER. To check us out."

"That's good. How's the headache?"

"I've had worse. Many times."

He doesn't elaborate, but it's likely he's referring to the side-effects of the Intersect.

"How about your cheek?"

"I've dealt with worse. Much worse."

He gives her a long look. "I imagine you have.

"I just wish you hadn't."

"So do I, Chuck. So do I."

…

She can tell he wants to ask her something, but is unsure of himself. Finally, after a few more blocks pass by, he quietly inquires, "Sarah, what happened with Shaw...back there? What did he say to you?"

She chews on her bottom lip, uncertain about how to answer.

"I'm sorry. It's too soon—"

"No, Chuck, it's fine. Nothing he said was any different than I'd told myself a hundred times."

"What do you mean?"

"He went on how he and I were the same. Attractive but empty inside. A vacuum. A machine."

His reply is vehement. "He was wrong. Totally. You aren't like that at all."

"Thank you, but I understand why he believed that." She pauses. "And he was right. In a manner of speaking."

It's clear he's about to object again, but she cuts him off. "Hear me out, please."

He nods, reluctantly. "OK."

She stares straight ahead, watching the road. "Everyone at Langley believed that I was that way. Cold, heartless. Otherwise, how could I possibly do what I did? Be what I was?"

She grips the wheel, tightly. "No one knew how much I struggled, trying to avoid tumbling into the...abyss."

She feels his gentle hand on her shoulder, a reassuring squeeze. His unspoken empathy gives her the courage to go on.

She swallows heavily. "I fought it, Chuck, I really did. But I was losing the battle. I was right on the edge. Teetering.

"Until the accident gave me a chance…a chance to stop. To step back from the brink. An intermission, if you will."

She pauses for a few seconds. "If I hadn't been given that opportunity, the time to go over what happened in Budapest, I'm almost certain the second act would've closely followed the plot of the first. I would've fallen. Become exactly what Shaw believed I already was."

She turns briefly to him. Smiles, almost shyly. "But instead, my second act, especially this part of it was,…unexpected. Against the flow of the plot. Some might say it was your typical 'boy-meets-girl' device, but it wasn't. It was so much more than that. More of a 'girl-meets-boy-falls-in-love-and-finds-there's-something-worth-living-for' kinda thing. The tragedy turning into a romance."

She removes one hand from the wheel. Takes his hand in hers. "It's you I have to thank for that."

He brings her hand to his mouth, kisses it. "No, not really. All I did was remind you who you really were.

"You're the one who was courageous enough to change your path. To go against everything you've been taught.

He smirks. "And you're the one who was brave enough, or maybe _foolish_ enough, to take a chance on me."

She shakes her head. "The words are right. The only problem is that it's the wrong person saying them."

He shakes his head in turn. "Nope. Have to disagree with you there."

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"We'll shelve this for now, but you should know you _will_ lose this argument. Eventually."

"Nope. Ain't gonna happen."

"There're a couple of things you need to know about me. First of all, I hate to lose."

"I've already gathered that. Second?"

"I can be very convincing when I put my mind to it."

"And just how would you go about convincing me, missy?"

She grins, lets the 'missy' slide. "You'll see. You'll see."

…

His sister is waiting, pacing anxiously, as they enter the ER. She sees them, rushes over.

"Chuck! Sarah! Are you guys OK?"

"Yeah, sis. Like I said, just some bumps and bruises."

"Yes, Ellie. He only hit me once."

The doctor's eyebrows raise. "He? Only once?"

Sarah nods. "Can we go somewhere private?"

"Yes. Of course." The doctor looks at a whiteboard on the wall. "Exam room three is free. We can do the paperwork later."

They file into the small room, an examination bed taking up much of the space.

Ellie takes charge, clearly in her element.

"Sarah, up on the bed, please."

"Shouldn't Chuck be first?"

"Who's the doctor?"

Sarah grins, flinches a bit from the pain in her cheek. "You are." She hops up on the bed.

"Good. My brother's banged that thick skull of his more times than I can remember. He seems fine, but I'll check for a concussion in a moment. Right now we need to clean that up, make sure it doesn't bleed any more or get infected."

Sarah submits to the doctor's ministrations. Hisses a bit when she gently cleans the wound and applies antiseptic.

"I don't think you'll need stitches. Butterfly bandages should do the job. You'll bruise for sure, but I'm fairly certain there's no damage to your zygomatic arch—sorry—cheekbone. We'll x-ray it to be sure. How's your eye? Any difficulty seeing?"

"No. It's good."

Ellie nods. "Good." She finishes putting on the bandages. Then, stripping off her latex gloves, she turns to Chuck.

"Your turn. On the bed."

Sarah hops off, watches as Ellie inspects the lump on his forehead, has him follow her moving finger with his eyes. Then she questions him.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"Sort of, but only for a few seconds."

"Any dizziness when you stood up?"

"Yeah, but not now."

"Any vision issues?

"No."

"Nausea?"

"Nope."

She turns to Sarah. "Did his speech sound slurred at any time? Did he say or do anything that seemed to not make sense?"

"No. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but other than that, nothing…too crazy."

She glances at Chuck, flashes a little smile his way. He returns it.

Ellie looks suspiciously at the two of them. "What was that look?"

He tilts his head, raises an eyebrow, silently asking.

After a moment's hesitation, Sarah gives him a tiny nod.

"Sis, I kinda got…carried away…on the way over here. Blurted out to Sarah that I wanted to…you know…spend the rest of my life with her."

His sister gapes at him. "Oh, no! You didn't? Please, tell me you didn't!"

He just nods, grinning from ear to ear.

The doctor turns to face the blonde spy. Apologetically, the words tumble out. "Sarah, I'm so sorry. Chuck sometimes lets his mouth get away from him. He shouldn't have put you on the spot like—"

"I said yes, Ellie."

That stops the doctor in her tracks. A full five seconds pass before she's able to reply.

Incredulous. "You did?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Sarah sees in her the same joy she'd seen in Chuck at the _yes_. But it's only a brief glimpse because, before she can react, the woman has her in a breath-stealing embrace. She helplessly looks over Ellie's shoulder as she returns the hug, sees Chuck smiling widely.

Ellie releases her, steps back and takes Sarah's hands. "I'm so happy! Right from the moment he told me about you, I had hopes. You should have seen the way he acted before and after our little group meeting the other morning. He didn't realize it, but he positively gushed every time he spoke of you."

"I'm right here, sis."

She mock glares at her brother before looking Sarah in the eye.

"When he stood up for you, put me in my place—which I deserved—I knew he liked you. A lot.

"And then yesterday, when I saw the two of you together..."

She shakes her head, wondrous thankfulness on her face.

"Sarah, you brought Chuck back to life. Before you came here, he was just going through the motions. Especially in the last month or so. He rarely smiled, didn't laugh as much as he used to. He slept a lot. Too much. I was angry, hurt, to see him disappearing. Giving up on himself. Nothing I did seemed to help. I felt powerless. Frustrated."

Ellie blinks away tears.

"But then you came along, and almost overnight, he was back."

Sarah blushes. "I didn't do that much. Just followed my orders."

Before she can elaborate, the doctor firmly declares, "No. You went well above and beyond your orders. You gave him hope. Another chance at life.

"And even if that'd been all you'd done, I would've been eternally grateful."

She squeezes Sarah's hands. "But you did so much more. You've also given him another chance at love."

She hugs the spy again, whispers in her ear, "Thank you. Thank you for saving him."

This time, _Sarah_ has to blink away the tears as his sister steps back.

"It wasn't a one-way street, Ellie. Not even close." She pauses. "I don't know how much he's told you about my personal life?"

"Almost nothing. He told me, quite firmly, that I had to ask you about that."

Sarah flashes a little smile of gratitude his way. "Well, if he had, you would've realized he saved me too. A car accident—I'll tell you about it later—took me off active duty for a year. Then I was assigned a meaningless job. The past two years have been filled with…nothing.

"But then I came here and suddenly, unexpectedly, there was…something. A chance for…happiness…I've never believed I deserved."

"That's crazy talk. You deserve this and so much more."

"But—"

The doctor is firm, brooking no-nonsense. "No more of that. You're my sister. And around here, family members get a sound talking to when they dump on themselves. The outside world already does quite enough of that, thank you. No need to add more garbage on the pile."

Sarah chokes, barely manages to squeeze out the words. "Sister? You think of me like that? Already?"

Surprised, Ellie replies, "Of course. Why wouldn't I? You did say yes, didn't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Sarah, the rest is just formality. As far as I'm concerned, you're already a Bartowski. And, as such, you have me on your side, through thick or thin. Anyone who causes you any grief will have to answer to me." She momentarily glares her brother's way. "Anyone."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, chuckles. "Don't worry, sis. Message received."

"But, Ellie, you almost know nothing about me. About my life."

"Don't care."

Startled. "Excuse me?"

"Don't care what you _were_. All I care about is who you _are_."

"But—"

"I'm not naive. When you briefed us last night, I suspected that whatever reason Shaw had for wanting to come after you was personal. Probably involving someone close to him that he lost. A loss you were involved in somehow. Otherwise, why this overpowering desire for revenge?"

She can't help but glance at Chuck, taken aback by the woman's keen insight.

 _It seems that it runs in the family._

He shrugs his shoulders. "That's my sister. You'd better get used to it."

She turns to Ellie. "You're right. But it's a part of my past I've tried to put behind me.

"I understand. But given the life you've led, it's not too much of a stretch to assume there are other actions, or _inactions_ , in your past that you also seriously regret.

"But the truth is that all of us have those…demons…we have to wrestle with, to some degree or other. Yours are likely of a magnitude I can't fully comprehend—yet. But whatever they are, whatever stops and starts you've made in your life, they've made you who you are today. Right here. Right now.

"A woman I'm happy and proud to call my sister."

Abruptly, Sarah's vision blurs.

Ellie tenderly asks, "Sarah, why are you crying?"

She dashes away the tears with her fingers, sniffles. "I like the sound of that. I really do. But you're giving me more credit than I deserve."

"No, I don't think so."

Shaking her head, Sarah blurts out, "Less than an hour ago, I almost killed a man! He was unconscious and I was still ready to end him."

The doctor nods calmly. "You're talking about Shaw?"

"Yes."

"I think it's time you told me what happened." She walks to the door. "Just let me check first if we're OK here." She opens it, calls out, "Sandra! You guys need this exam room?"

Sarah hears a voice from a distance. "No, Doc, we're good. It's a quiet day. I'll knock if things change."

"OK." She turns back, shuts the door behind her, grabs the only chair and sits. She gestures towards her brother. "I assumed you'd wanna sit beside your fiancé."

Both of them blush, but that doesn't stop Sarah from hopping up on the bed beside Chuck. She takes his hand without even thinking about it.

Ellie notices, smiles. "Aright. Spill."

Sarah gathers her thoughts. "Shaw fooled us all. He was aware that we were tracking him, or more accurately, thought we were tracking him. Turns out that he decoyed us, arrived much sooner than we expected."

Ellie asks, "Where did all this happen?"

"In my apartment. He bribed a power company official to briefly shut down the plant. During the blackout, with our cameras out, he slipped in the back. He was there when I went over to get some things."

She shakes her head in disgust. "He got the drop on me. I was careless. I thought that we were secure. I shouldn't have assumed."

Quietly, she goes on, "He reminded me of what…I'd done. As if I _needed_ to be reminded."

"As he spoke, I found out that all our efforts, the whole Carina Jill charade, were a waste. He told me he had no intention of going after Chuck."

"Hold on. If that's true, why did he shoot at me?"

Ellie jumps in, her voice rising. "He shot at you?"

"Yeah, sis. But I ducked, smacked my head on the doorframe." He points to his forehead. "That's how I got this."

Sarah interrupts to answer his question. "He would've shot at anyone who came through that door, Chuck. It was basically a reflex action on his part. He wasn't about to let anything or anyone stop him from killing me."

"Got it."

"But you coming into the room is what saved me."

"How?" Ellie asks.

Sarah explains. "Chuck's sudden entrance was just enough of a distraction for me to get close to Shaw. Close enough to attack him without being shot myself."

Those awful minutes flood back into her mind. Makes it difficult to speak.

She forces out the words. "I'd heard Chuck fall. I thought he…he was dead. So all that was left for me was to make sure Shaw died as well."

Ellie leans forward. "What did you do?"

"I disarmed him. But then he hit me. Hard enough that I fell to my knees in front of him. Stunned. He was about to hit me again when I…" She pauses, for some reason reluctant to tell the two eager siblings exactly what she'd done.

Both ask, simultaneously, "What?"

"I drove my fist up into his…groin. As hard as I could."

Chuck flinches even as he smiles. "Awesome! That's the move from The Karate Kid, part two!"

Ellie nods, firmly. "Yes, that's usually effective. I've done something similar myself once or twice."

"What?!"

"Drunken frat boys, Chuck. A knee in the nether regions tended to make them think twice about groping me or my friends."

He exclaims, pride in his expression, "That's my sister." He looks back and forth between the two women. "Clearly, I'll have to be careful to not do anything that'll make either of you mad at me. That, or start wearing a cup." He grins, his nose crinkling.

Sarah can't help but marvel once more at his ability to make her laugh.

 _No one's ever been able to do that before. But, then, you never let yourself really laugh, did you?_

Eventually, she'd come to believe she had no real sense of humor. That she was fundamentally incapable of genuinely responding to situations that normal people found amusing.

 _Until now._

Ellie just shakes her head, trying, but unsuccessful in her efforts to hold back a smile at her brother's antics.

"Please ignore the idiot. What happened then?"

Back to reality.

"After that, I was able to gain an advantage. Eventually, he was unconscious. On the floor…" She pauses, not anxious to revisit those moments.

She takes a deep breath. "I put a knife to his throat. I was...ready. Right on the edge. All I could think of was ending him. Punishing him for what he'd done...or I'd thought he'd done."

"Why did you stop?"

"It was Chuck. I heard his voice in my head. Hesitated."

She glances at him. "Then I heard him, for real, telling me to stop. I did."

He puts his arm around her shoulders, pulls her closer. Leans in and kisses her cheek.

Ellie's thoughtful. Doesn't speak for a few moments.

"Sarah, may I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if it's out of line."

Her reply is tentative. "I will if I can."

"Would you have stopped if Chuck wasn't there to _actually_ say the words?"

 _Trust her to get to the heart of the matter._

"We've discussed it. Chuck believes I would've. Myself?" She shrugs. "Probably, but I'm not certain."

She pauses, unsure how much she's willing to reveal.

 _Not the old ways. Not anymore._

"You need to know that I was trained to make sure that matters are never left...unfinished."

The doctor muses on that for a few moments. "I think I understand. Like in the movies when the heroine manages to knock down the villain, but then, instead of making sure the man stays down, she foolishly throws down her stick or whatever and runs away. And, of course, the villain always gets up and keeps after her."

"Yes, it seems foolish, but, in truth, that's the way most of us would act. For an average, reasonably well-adjusted person, deliberately hurting someone goes against our nature, especially if that person is already down.

"I was trained to overcome that natural…repugnance. Much the same way a soldier is trained."

"I'm sorry, Sarah."

"For what?"

"That the CIA took your…innocence…away from you."

 _When was the last time I was even close to being innocent?_

"I appreciate that. But in many ways, that happened long before I became an agent."

Ellie's clearly curious, but she doesn't ask. Just looks at her brother.

Sarah squeezes his hand. "Chuck knows about my past. And, soon, very soon, I hope I'll be able to tell you, too."

"Anytime. Anyplace. Whenever you're ready."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

And it does.

"OK. Let me see if I have this straight. You told us Shaw had already killed two guards, so he needed to be stopped, punished. Deserved it. Even if he hadn't gone after you or Chuck. Is that right?"

"Yes. Basically, a 'shoot-on-sight' order had been issued."

"But you didn't carry through. You stopped short." The doctor gives her a long look. "Sarah, if this sort of thing had happened two years ago, would you have stopped?"

And there it is. The crux of the matter.

 _The then and now Sarah._

When she doesn't answer for a few seconds, Chuck pulls her closer. His voice is quiet, but firm. "Ellie, I think that's enough."

"I'm sorry—"

Sarah shakes her head. "No. It's OK. It's something that needs to be said."

She fights her instinct to prevaricate.

 _No, no more lies._

All she can hope is that Ellie will be able to see her as Chuck does.

"To answer your question, no, probably not."

She sees the sudden anger, the disgust on the woman's face. Flinches.

Ellie notices. "Sorry, Sarah. I'm not upset with you. Just with the people who put you in the position of ever having to make that kind of choice."

"No need to apologize. I've been angry about that as well. Many times."

"So what changed between now and then?"

"After the accident, I had time to think. Plenty of it. To go over my life. To try and come to terms with my past. I told myself that I would no longer carry out certain…actions…they'd previously demanded of me.

"But in the end, it wasn't enough. I'd dispensed with my…demons…so to speak—many of them, at least—but hadn't found anything of value to take their place. I was…empty. Aimless. Wasting my days."

She shakes her head at the memory.

"I'm only beginning to comprehend how important those…nothing…years were. Yes, I'd hated what had happened to me, but I know now that without that time I wouldn't have been nearly so…receptive…to what I found here.

"Ellie, my accident took place because my life and that of a careless young man happened to converge at an intersection at exactly the same time. Two seconds either way and nothing would've happened. Wrong place. Wrong time.

"Finding Chuck was, in some ways, very similar."

"What do you mean?"

"This, what he and I have, wouldn't have happened if I'd come here two years ago as planned. I'm convinced of that. I wouldn't have been ready for him. And I suspect he wouldn't have been ready for me. Not the me I was then.

"Wrong time.

"But even when the time was right, there was still the 'where' to be considered.

"Ellie, there were numerous men who tried to make my acquaintance back in DC."

The doctor snorts. "I'm not surprised."

"Not one of them interested me. Most were vain or arrogant. Or both. But even the nicer ones were incapable of making me feel…anything. I'd pretty much given up.

"But then I was assigned to protect a man named Charles Irving Bartowski."

She smiles up at him before shifting her eyes back to his sister. "Another make-work project."

Sarah pauses, flushes, embarrassed by a memory. "Ellie, I have a confession to make. On the flight out, I went over his file. My first thoughts were that Chuck would probably turn out to be a sorry loser, clinging to me while whining about his lot in life. I told myself I'd have to stay clear."

"Don't feel bad, Sarah. On paper, Chuck comes across as somewhat underwhelming, but—"

Chuck jumps in. "Gee, thanks, sis."

She gives him a look. "But, as I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted, he does come across better in real life. Once you get past the nerdiness and unsophistication, that is."

"Very true." Sarah ruffles his hair, chuckles gently at his embarrassment.

"However, I definitely didn't come here looking for a relationship. I had no conscious awareness of what I _was_ looking for, or that I even was looking at all. It was just a job. Or so I thought."

She gives his a quick, little kiss. "But all that changed because I came to know a lovely, kind, gentle, caring man. And then I met him. He helped me to see things clearly. To see that this was my chance for a life. Not just an existence."

This time, Chuck quickly kisses her.

"Ellie, this was the right time, the right place. The right me, the right him. Everything had to…intersect…precisely for us to be where we are now.

"And I'm so happy it did."

She leans in, kisses Chuck briefly on the cheek, then nestles her head into his shoulder and wraps her arms around his torso. He draws her closer. Kisses the top of her head. Then swipes at his eyes with his free hand.

Visibly moved, Ellie doesn't speak. They fall into a small silence.

Ellie breaks it. Quietly, she asks, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but in light of what you just said, your _yes_ to Chuck really wasn't all that sudden, was it? It seems to me that it was years in the making."

Sarah smiles brightly. "Yes, you're right." She looks up at the man sitting molded against her side. "Nothing spur of the moment about it."

Chuck comically swipes at his forehead, as if to wipe away the sweat. "Whew! That's a relief. I thought that any minute now you were going to tell me that you'd been in the grip of some sort of momentary madness."

She giggles. "Well, if I was, it was the right kind of madness."

He chuckles, leans closer and kisses her on the lips.

"The pair of you are just too cute for words." Ellie stands. "I'm going to arrange for some further tests. You can wait here.

"I'll be back in _five_ minutes." She holds up her spread fingers for emphasis as she gives them a stern look. "Five. And just so you know, this door _doesn't_ lock. Capiche?"

Sarah feels the heat in her face. Senses that Chuck's blushing as well.

"Gotcha, sis."

"Good. Celebration dinner. Tonight. Our place. Seven o'clock. Alright?"

"Sounds good."

"Is it OK if Carina comes?"

"Of course, Sarah. She's your friend. So she's ours now, too. John and Morgan are invited as well, Chuck."

"We'll arrange it."

"Good. See you in a bit." Ellie closes the door behind her.

"I think I understand what Devon said about your sister much better now."

"What part?"

"That she's one scary woman."

"And you've only been around her for a few days. Imagine what it's been like for me all these years." He shudders.

"You're not fooling anyone, Chuck. You love that woman with every bit of your heart."

He smiles softly, his gaze shifting to the door Ellie had left by. "Yeah, I do."

"You sure you've got room in there for the both of us?"

She'd meant to say it jokingly, but she hears the faint note of self-doubt in her voice.

He turns to her. Serious. It's evident he heard it as well.

"The heart is a funny thing, Sarah. The more you love, the bigger it gets. The more you love, the more friends it can accommodate. So, to answer your question, yes, there's room. Plenty of room. Never doubt that."

He kisses her. "OK?"

She nods, tremulous.

He smiles. "How about you? You sure you've got room for a goofy-looking nerd who works at a Buy More?"

It's typical Chuck. Using self-deprecating humor to give her an out, if she so chooses.

 _Not a chance._

She gently caresses his cheek, whispers reassuringly, "Yes. I do. No one has ever truly…occupied…my heart. Before. So, there's this empty space, a big one, just waiting to be filled."

She looks up into his eyes, asks, almost pleads, "Will you help me fill it, Chuck?"

He replies tenderly, "Yes, Sarah." Kiss. "Yes." Kiss. "Yes." Kiss.

Gasps and murmurs and promises uttered in breathtaking moments of taking breath.

After some time (she has no real idea how long), they're interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

A hissed voice. "Blondie, you two decent in there?" A chuckle. "On second thought, that might be fun. Coming in."

Carina opens the door, carrying a briefcase in one hand. She looks mildly disappointed to see that they're fully clothed.

"Damn! I thought I might be able to give you guys some pointers."

"Don't need your help, Carina. My fiancé is quite capable of thoroughly kissing me without any advice from you."

He blushes, his head down.

"Fiancé?!" Carina shakes her head, disgustedly. "Why am I not surprised?

"So, you're off the market, are you?"

"Never was in it."

"No, you got that right."

Carina holds out her hand. "Congrats, Chuck." He takes it, somewhat tentatively. "Never thought I'd see the day my friend would settle down and let herself become a hausfrau in Burbank."

"You needn't worry. I neither expect nor want that to happen. All I want is to be with Sarah, wherever that road leads us."

Sarah leans in, kisses his cheek. "Thank you, Chuck." Then stares down her friend.

 _Take that, Carina._

The redhead makes a gagging motion. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

After a brief chuckle, Sarah asks, "Why are you here?"

Carina holds up the briefcase. "After you left, I searched Shaw. Found his car keys. By the way, if Shaw complains that he was mistreated while unconscious, it was purely accidental that my knee happened to 'fall', twice, into his groin while I was searching him. Or was it three times? Can't recall."

"Don't concern yourself. He'll believe it happened during the fight."

"Gotcha. Good on you."

Carina pulls a set of keys out of her pocket. "Turns out the car wasn't a rental. He must've had a contact who provided it. Casey and I thought it might be good to make sure the files he took were…secure…before the clean-up crew arrived to take Shaw in.

"Casey stayed behind while I drove around the neighborhood looking for a Mazda, pressing the key fob whenever I saw one. Found it two blocks away. A white Miata." She makes a face. "You'd think he would've asked for something a little more masculine, wouldn't ya?

"Anyway, found the files in the trunk. Couldn't take them to your place, as it would be swarming with CIA personnel by now. So I brought them here for you to take a look at before we turn them over. Just in case there was anything of…interest.

"Just make sure you wipe them down before we return them to the car. After which an anonymous tip will tell the people in charge about a seemingly abandoned car."

"Thanks, Carina. Did you look at them?"

"Just looked to see what was there. Your file and a couple of others, agents I don't know.

"One peculiar thing, though."

"What was that?"

"There was a note attached to the front of your file. Something about possibly enacting the Sanitize Protocol. Mean anything to you?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No, never heard—"

Chuck stiffens beside her, his eyes roll. He gasps.

"Chuck! You OK?"

"Yeah."

"Was that a flash?"

He nods. "The Sanitize Protocol. It's scary, Sarah, really bad."

"What? How?"

"We better call Casey. We need to meet. All of us."

 **TBC**

—

A/N: I believe one more chapter will do it.

Thanks to all who've continued to follow this story. And a special thanks to all who reviewed.

If you haven't reviewed yet, now's your chance. Hope to hear from you.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: The penultimate chapter. I've decided to add an epilogue. The good news is that it will be published very shortly. Michaelfmx my stalwart, hard-working beta has it right now._

 _Any errors you see are my responsibility._

 _Thanks to Grayroc and Zettel for their continued support._

 _Don't own Chuck at al._

—

 **SECOND CHANCES**

 _She gently caresses his cheek, whispers reassuringly, "Yes. I do. No one has ever truly…occupied…my heart. Before. So, there's this empty space, a big one, just waiting to be filled."_

 _She looks up into his eyes, asks, almost pleads, "Will you help me fill it, Chuck?"_

 _He replies tenderly, "Yes, Sarah." Kiss. "Yes." Kiss. "Yes." Kiss._

…

 _"Chuck! You OK?"_

" _Yeah."_

 _"Was that a flash?"_

 _He nods. "The Sanitize Protocol. It's scary, Sarah, really bad."_

 **Chapter Fifteen: Breaking free**

Dressed in black, her blonde hair tucked up under a cap, she slips stealthily through the archway. It seems the tech guy has done his job. There are no alarms, no indication that she's been detected.

Which is a good thing for her. Maybe this will turn out to be a quick, clean job. In and out with no fuss, no muss.

It wasn't a job she'd asked for, but the Director had made it clear—very clear—that the future she desired depended upon her carrying out this one task, disagreeable though it is.

Somewhat guiltily, she has to admit to herself that there's a certain amount of personal satisfaction to be gained. She had taken an almost instantaneous dislike to the woman upon their first and only meeting. The display of supercilious self-righteousness had grated on her nerves. Had made her want to slap the smug expression from the woman's face.

Even now, she shakes her head, wondering why she restrained herself when the opportunity presented itself.

She puts it aside. Concentrates on the mission.

Peeking her head around the corner, she steals a quick glance toward the target's apartment. All the lights are off. Not unexpected, considering it's the middle of the night.

She removes the key from one of her many pockets. The support team had managed to obtain a copy for her, making the entry that much quicker and safer. In her other hand she holds the silenced pistol down by her side.

Rapidly, quietly, she covers the intervening distance and, slipping the key into the lock, quickly unlocks the door. Very slowly and very carefully, she pushes it open. It doesn't creak and she enters the darkened room.

A voice in her earwig. "No alarms. You're clear."

She quietly replies, "Good. Radio silence from now on unless there's an emergency."

"Roger that."

She closes the door behind her. Flicks the night-vision goggles down over her eyes.

Only to be immediately blinded by the sudden blaze of the room lights.

Ripping off the goggles, she throws herself to the floor, desperate in her attempt to present the smallest target possible.

But there's no gunfire, not even the muted sound of a tranq pistol.

Warily, she looks up, blinking the glare tears from her eyes. It takes a few seconds, but then she's able to make out a blonde woman sitting comfortably in a kitchen chair facing the door. Her legs are crossed at the ankles. In her lap, she holds a silenced chrome pistol.

The woman smiles, but it's not a smile of any softer emotion. No, rather one of infinite menace.

"Agent Forrest, have you given any thought to a different line of work? These nocturnal excursions just don't seem to be working out for you."

"Walker." Alex glowers.

…

Sarah doesn't react to Forrest's scowl, simply watches as the woman starts to rise.

"Uh-uh. None of that until you divest yourself of your weapons. Pistol on the floor, please. Slide it my way."

She obeys.

"And the one strapped to your ankle."

Alex starts to reach for her backup weapon.

"Slowly, Forrest." Sarah nods towards the pistol in her lap. "Don't want to use this. I really like my hardwood floors. I'd hate to see them stained."

Alex slowly reaches down and, with two fingers, pulls the pistol from her ankle holster. Placing it on the floor, she slides it across the floor.

Sarcastically, she asks, "Do I have your permission to stand now?"

"Certainly. As soon as you get rid of the knife in your boot. And there's the little matter of the pistol holstered in the small of your back."

Alex huffs as she carefully—and very slowly—removes her remaining weapons. They join the others on the floor, slid over in Sarah's vicinity.

Sarah rises from her chair and, without letting her gaze drift, even for a fraction of a second, crouches down and gathers up Forrest's arsenal with her free hand. She places each piece on the now-vacated chair, then stands.

She gestures with her head. "Let's go and sit in the living room. We need to have a little chat, you and I. Don't worry, as long as you behave yourself, there'll be no need to use this." She nods toward her pistol.

Forrest gets to her feet and walks over to the couch. She sits.

Sarah sits in a modern, comfortable chair facing the couch.

"One more thing. Without pressing the little button on the side—the one we both know is to send an alert to your team—I'd like you to remove your watch and place it on the table."

The woman obeys once more.

"Oh, and by the way, I haven't forgotten about them. They should be attempting to come through the back door any moment now."

There's no sound for a few moments. Then, abruptly, the confused babble of surprised voices. The repeated pffft! of tranq rounds being fired. Bodies falling heavily to the ground. Quiet.

Then Casey's voice comes from the back of the apartment. "We're clear, Walker. Two down for a nice little nap. They're the ones we expected."

Alex stares, open-mouthed, at the woman sitting across from her.

"You see, Alex, I have a backup team as well. People who I'm very close to. Friends. New and old."

A female voice, one Alex doesn't recognize. "Hey, Sarah. The guy I tranqed is kinda cute. You mind if I jot down the particulars from his file? You know, as a fallback in case my current situation doesn't pan out."

There's a rumbling, inarticulate growl.

Sarah smiles as she replies, "Whatever you want, Carina. You'd do it even if I didn't let you."

"True."

Casey's voice again. "We'll go and secure their van after we handcuff these two. You good?"

"Yes, very good. See you in a bit."

"Roger that."

Forrest's, "How?" slips out, seemingly before she can stop herself.

Sarah smiles, her words proud. "It was mostly Chuck."

"The _asset_? I don't believe you."

"His name is Chuck. Or Mr. Bartowski. _Not_ the asset. _Not_ the Intersect.

"I trust you'll remember that in the future, _Agent_."

Forrest swallows heavily. "Yes."

Sarah feels a small measure of pity for the woman sitting across from her. "You consistently underestimated and undervalued him. That was your mistake, right from the beginning. And I'm not talking about what the Intersect allowed him to do. The man is overwhelmingly brilliant in so, so many other ways.

"But you couldn't admit that, even to yourself, could you? You're part of that sad group of individuals who believe the best way to elevate yourself is to put others down."

"That's a load of crap. I have a pragmatic view of the value of others. I'm not swayed by emotions."

"You really believe that don't you?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

Sarah shakes her head in disappointment. To try and convince Forrest otherwise is an exercise in futility.

Instead, she decides to move on.

"We have discreet remote cameras all around the area. Chuck spotted your van two blocks away. He knew you'd tie into the surveillance system. He made sure you saw what you wanted to see. No signs of anyone up and alert. No indications that we saw you enter the courtyard. Or the rest of your team approaching from the back. You believed the looped feed your tech guy was feeding us was working. But we were just looping the loop back to you.

"I will admit that I admire your technique. You were unexpectedly stealthy. If we hadn't seen you on our cameras, you would have almost surprised us. Almost."

"And the van?"

"Chuck will do something complicated to defeat its external camera feed at the critical moment Your tech guy will never know what hit him until Casey does just that. Or Carina hits _on_ him if she thinks he's cute enough.

"You've been one step ahead the whole time."

"More like two or three, I'd say. And because we are, we can relax now. Have our talk. There are several issues that need to be addressed."

Forrest doesn't reply.

"Come, come, I know this is all very discouraging and confusing, but there's no need to be surly. You're still alive, after all. And this will go a lot better if we have an actual conversation. One to which I advise you to pay close attention."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"That's better.

"First of all, you can take comfort in the fact that this wasn't really _your_ fault. We've known, for quite some time, that _someone_ was coming. I will, however, admit that we didn't know it was you until a couple of days ago. And we weren't sure who'd be accompanying you until recently, either.

"Are you curious about how we knew?"

Forrest just shrugs her shoulders. "Not that important to me."

"I'll tell you anyway. Mostly because I'm so proud of what Chuck has accomplished. As I said, he's brilliant."

Sarah locks eyes with Forrest. "It's mainly because of him that we came to know that you and your team were being sent to assassinate both of us."

The woman is clearly stunned by this revelation, opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Sarah cuts her off. "Don't insult my intelligence by trying to deny it. Remember who you're dealing with.

"Also, I'm fairly certain you were instructed to make every effort to ascertain if we had the files Shaw had taken. And if so, recover them."

Alex blurts out, "Do you have them?"

Walker smirks. "Yes. We found them within an hour of stopping Shaw. At first, we thought we would return them, but after some consideration, we realized they gave us…leverage. A way to protect Chuck. And a way for him and I to fully exit this life with our heads still on our shoulders.

"So we made sure the car they'd been in disappeared. By the time he'd admitted their location, there was nothing to be found. No one knew for certain that we had the information that only the Director and a few others are ever supposed to see.

"And it was in those same files that we got our first clue. Attached to mine there was a note which referred to something called the Sanitize Protocol."

Sarah's look is long and hard. "Have you heard of it?"

"No."

"I believe you. And I'm not surprised. The term wouldn't have meant anything to anyone except those at the highest levels in the CIA in any case.

"And, of course, Chuck."

Sarah muses. "I don't believe the powers that be, at least initially, fully understood just how much of a double-edged sword the Intersect could be. It was only Chuck's inherent goodness and honesty that prevented him from using it for his advancement. In the hands of someone ambitious, someone unscrupulous, the damage would be…catastrophic."

"So you're telling me he flashed on the note. That the Intersect is working again."

"Yes. To a degree. It seems that it only kicks in when there's some sort of direct threat to the people he…cares…for. And those who care for him."

"You?"

"Yes. Me. Us."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You must have had your suspicions. Clearly, you knew we share the same apartment."

"Nothing but a sham."

"A sham?"

"Yes. The Director filled me in."

Sarah nods. "Let me guess. He told you that I was pursuing my own agenda. That close?"

Forrest doesn't reply.

"I'll take that for a yes. And that's part of the thought behind the protocol. Sanitize. Sterilize. A way to deal with individuals who had worked for or with the CIA, but whose continued existence was deemed to be extremely detrimental to the Company. All this without the use of due process and the public exposure it would bring.

"The trick is, of course, doing all of that in a way that sets up someone else to take the blame. Make it appear that the CIA had nothing to do with the actions taken.

"That's what Chuck was able to tell us from his flash. It seems a stray file that briefly mentioned the protocol was overlooked and found its way into the Intersect. After, he was able to put together other disparate bits of data to flesh out the basic framework. Then we put our heads together, figured out the whys and hows of how this related to our situation.

"You also gave me a little clue. When you left here, you said that sooner or later I'd be ordered to eliminate Chuck. That, at some point, the Director would feel it was too dangerous to leave the 'Intersect' walking around, even if it didn't appear to be functioning. This despite the CIA's current policy of playing nice. You remember that?"

The barest of nods.

"Good. Then, when Shaw confronted me in this very room, he told me that my file had an older notation from Graham concerning the possibility of having me 'retired' at some point. A notation endorsed by the current director. I know Shaw was telling the truth because I've seen it myself.

"We put two and two together. The Director was seriously considering having both me and Chuck taken out. And he was going to make damn sure the CIA wasn't going to shoulder the blame.

"We tossed around the idea that Shaw had been unwittingly manipulated to go after me. We wondered if the Director had somehow arranged to let Shaw 'accidentally' find out that the CIA had had his wife killed. Someone had to have done it, otherwise, how did he know where to begin looking?

"But if the Director had meant to use the man surreptitiously, matters rapidly spun out of control. Shaw was like a bull in a china shop, solely focused on finding his wife's murderer. He killed two guards and left such chaos in his wake that there was no chance to cover it up. The Director had no choice but to put out a BOLO and let it be known that Shaw was possibly on his way to Burbank.

"While we couldn't be certain the Director had instigated the man's actions, it did get us to thinking. It didn't take long for us to realize that I would make the perfect patsy. That I'd been sent here to be…prepositioned…for whatever narrative the Director might decide to use down the road.

"This one, for example.

"Depressed CIA agent, angry that her career is in the toilet, decides to go rogue. Sees in Chuck Bartowski a chance for something greater. Gets close to the mark, closer than her mission parameters dictate. All part of an elaborate con to see if the Intersect is still viable. If so, then take him and sell him off to the highest bidder.

"Of course, when the CIA became aware of Agent Walker's duplicity, a team is sent to apprehend her. Unfortunately, the subject, realizing she has no escape, kills Chuck Bartowski, apparently concluding that, if she couldn't benefit from his abilities, no one else would either.

"I can picture the Director sadly telling the committee, 'We had no idea that Agent Walker was in such an unstable state. Somehow, she'd managed to fool all the psychiatrists who'd evaluated her. Regrettably, we'll never know her true mindset, because, before we could apprehend her, she took her own life.'"

Sarah pauses, then states, "Not that he would've let you in on all his machinations, of course. But I'm sure you're bright enough to understand what was really happening here."

Forrest's silence is the only reply.

"Again, I'll take that for a yes.

"Once we figured that out, it was a matter of getting into the CIA's servers, watching for evidence that plans were being put into motion.

"Of course, we weren't expecting to find an obvious smoking gun. Specific orders given to whomever the Director decided to use. He'd be much too clever for that.

"But other, less obvious, matters often get overlooked. Travel orders. Requisitions for weapons, transportation, etc. Chuck inserted a hidden program that watched for data along those lines, especially as it related to LA.

"First of all, we tracked the movements of fellow enforcers, the ones whose files Shaw had taken alongside mine. Both had been given early retirement, part of the incentive to keep them quiet. But now that their past actions were in danger of being exposed, making then vulnerable to retaliatory actions, they would have the incentive to try and recover their files. However, it's also possible the Director threatened to burn them if they didn't carry out this one last mission.

"And when his program found that you'd been ordered to leave Paris and return to DC, we believed the time was near. Then, when he tracked you to LA, we were certain.

"But one thing puzzled us. Why now? Why not take me out earlier? And why, if Chuck was considered a risk, wasn't it done earlier?

"The answer was twofold. First of all the Intersect was functional, at least somewhat, until just a while ago. Much too valuable to dispose of while there was still the chance to resurrect it.

"As for me, you correctly observed that I'd never played the game. Never used what I knew to advance myself. So they weren't overly concerned about me saying things I shouldn't. And I could be useful to them, here in Burbank. Assuming I would obey orders and remove Chuck when the time came."

She pauses. "As to that, I assume you informed the Director that he couldn't count on me to carry out that order?"

"Yes. During my debrief before going to Paris. I told him you'd gone soft."

Walker nods. "As I thought. Of course, he would now look at me in a different light. A problem. No longer an asset in place. Still, as long as I behaved myself, there wasn't any need for immediate action.

"But the Shaw incident changed everything. The files were now out in the wild. Where they were, who had access to them, was anyone's guess. Maybe some reporter would manage to get their hands on them.

"It was important to contain the damage that would result if some of the events contained within them came to light. The CIA could claim the files were faked, but if the subjects of said files decided to talk, to confirm the contents, it would be beyond bad. Disastrous. And given my recent 'going soft', as you put it, the Director was worried about me going off the reservation.

"It was time to...disinfect...the situation before it spiraled out of control.

"Agent Walker and the Intersect gone. The CIA, admittedly sorrowed by the actions of an individual it used to trust, comes away clean. Regrets over the loss of an innocent civilian. Blah. Blah. Blah."

Walker gives Forrest a look. "How does that sound to you? Pretty much spot on?"

Forrest shakes her head. "I'm not privy to what the Director was planning. I was simply told that you and the Int—Chuck were serious risks to national security. A risk that needed to be eliminated."

"Are you telling me that he didn't instruct you to make sure that it looked like I killed Chuck and then myself?"

Forrest shrugs."You're right. Why should I deny it? This whole freaking mess is your fault, Walker. If you hadn't let yourself be taken in by Casey and Bartowski, you wouldn't have been burned."

Sarah laughs. "Agent Forrest, it's _your_ actions that lie at the root of this whole convoluted mess. Not mine."

Forrest indignantly retorts, "Don't try and pin this on me."

"There's no pinning involved, just simple facts.

"If you hadn't botched your assignment so badly, the Intersect would still be functioning. Chuck's life would still be sacrosanct. And there would've been no need to send me out here.

"But because you did make such a hash of it, the Director set plots in motion. Sees the opportunity to take out two potential problems with a single deniable stone. Most likely hopes that Shaw will perform a freebie for the CIA, but, if not, has a backup plan. You. After all, you'd been ready and willing to terminate Chuck before. So why not send you in again?"

She pauses. "What was it? A threat or a promise?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was it a threat or promise that motivated you to come back here?"

Forrest clamps her lips shut, refuses to answer.

Walker chuckles. "You know, you remind me of myself not that long ago. Why use words when a stony silence will do?"

She pauses. "By the way, the Director was damn good. I had no idea I was being set up. He played his part perfectly. I expect he did the same with you. Promised something you wanted in exchange for doing this. I might advise you to be wary of his promises."

Walker smiles. "One good thing has come out of your screw up, though. And for that, I owe you a debt of gratitude."

"You owe me?"

"Yes, and it's partially because of that debt that you're still alive.

"As I said, if you hadn't been so incompetent, I wouldn't have been sent here. I wouldn't have met the people who've become my friends. My family.

"I wouldn't have met the man who was to become my husband."

Forrest gapes. "Husband? You aren't married!"

"Don't believe everything you read. Just because it's not in my file, doesn't mean it isn't true.

"I keep telling you Chuck's brilliant, but you can't seem to wrap your head around that. How difficult do you think it would be for a man who's prowled around, unnoticed, in the CIA's most secure servers, to make sure that nothing in the public record would indicate that he and I were married two weeks ago?"

"Why in hell would you go that far?"

"For one, because it affords us some legal protections.

"But the primary reason is that I love him. And he loves me."

Alex, her incredulity mounting, manages to reply, "You let the geek _touch_ you?"

"Nerd, not geek. And, yes. Repeatedly. And I, him."

Forrest scoffs. "And how was he?"

"I'm not going to discuss that with you. But I will tell you that we've…touched…each other in ways that you couldn't possibly understand."

"So, where is this touchy-feely _husband_ of yours? Hiding in a closet somewhere, too afraid to put himself in harm's way?"

Sarah feels a sudden towering rage rising in her heart. Forrest obviously can see it her face, for she shrinks back on the couch.

"I'm gonna let that go. Once. But understand, if you imply that he's a coward again, there will be…consequences. Immediate ones."

Alex nods jerkily.

"Chuck Bartowski is the bravest man I know. Ever known. For so many reasons, not the least of which is that he's willing to take on someone like me.

"And just to put your mind at ease, I asked him to stay upstairs. To keep him safe, yes, but he's also been monitoring the whole situation from there. Making sure we've got everything under control. He's recording our little chat as well.

"But I also have a selfish reason. If he'd been down here and our conversation hadn't gone so well, he would've witnessed, firsthand, actions that I'd prefer he didn't. If possible, I don't want images of that sort burned into his brain."

"So _you're_ the coward. You're afraid that him seeing what you're capable of will push him away.

"You know, at one time you would've been right. But we're past that now.

''He _knows_ me." A look of wonder crosses her face. "And he still loves me."

"The last couple of years have exposed him to so much already. And yet he's still a…gentle… soul. Unlike you and me. I would do all I can to prevent him from becoming jaded. Like us."

"And just how were you planning to go about that, Walker?"

"If I'm to be his buffer between his world and ours, so be it. I'll do everything in my power to shield him from harm. Not just to his body, but his heart as well."

Forrest gawks at her. "Do you honestly expect me to believe all this…this drivel about you protecting his heart?

"You're deluding yourself. You're a killer. Cold. Soulless. Ruthless. Always have been. Always will be. It's insane to think the leopard can change its spots. Sooner or later, the Ice Queen will reassert herself. You'll go back to being who you really are.

"And when it does, what do you think is gonna happen—" Alex waves her hand vaguely around the room, "—to this little fantasy world you've created here with Chuck Bartowski?"

"Do you honestly think that those thoughts haven't crossed my mind? Numerous times?"

Walker pauses, asks, "Are you familiar with the term 'perdition', Forrest?"

"Something to do with eternal damnation. Hellfire." Forrest looks at Walker skeptically. "Why are you asking? You believe in that stuff?"

"No, not literally. But I firmly believe I was well down the road to damning myself. My life in the CIA was my…hell. The actions I'd carried out for the greater good were eating away at me…destroying my soul, my very being.

"You expressed the view that I believe pretty much everyone has of me. Cold. Ruthless. An automaton, not a human being. And that's almost certainly what I would have become…if another path hadn't presented itself.

"My very own road to Damascus, if you will."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've never heard the term?"

Alex shakes her head.

"You can look it up later, but for the moment I'll just say an opportunity came along. A chance to change the direction of my life. I'd taken the first step, but then the accident knocked me off my feet.

"The time that followed became a sort of...purgatory...for me. Lacking the will to move forward but unwilling to go back to whom, to what I'd been. An…equilibrium…I couldn't seem to escape.

"Until I came here. Until a lovely, kind caring man, a man whom you denigrated and demeaned at almost every opportunity, helped me to see that I didn't have to remain…frozen. That my past didn't necessarily dictate the course of my future. That I had within me the ability to choose what path I would now take.

"He helped me take firm hold of that second chance I'd been given. To fight for it with every bit of courage and strength I possess."

Forrest snorts. "Let me guess, Walker. Being with Chuck is your idea of heaven."

Sarah chuckles. "You know, I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but you're right. It is, especially compared to my life before I met him."

Disgustedly, Forrest replies, "Why are you telling me all of this crap? We're not friends, and never will be. And I'm sure as hell don't want to be your confidant."

"I'm only telling you because you need to truly comprehend just how utterly, irreplaceably precious he is to me. So that when you go back and repeat our conversation to the Director, you'll be able to fully convey that I will stop at _nothing_ to protect him and the life we're going to have together.

"Do _not_ make the mistake of thinking that my 'softness' toward Chuck, indicates a lack of will on my part. The Director knows what I'm capable of. A weapon no longer under his control.

"If he persists in this course of action, anyone he sends from this point on will go home in a body bag. Then I will rain down fire and sulfur on him and all who stand with him. I will scorch the very ground beneath his feet. The world will know of every illegal sanction, every unlawful act I carried out. The CIA will stand in a glaring spotlight, nakedly exposed.

"Then, after all that, I'll come after him. Personally. You might want to especially emphasize that last part."

Sarah leans back, relaxes, smiles grimly. "But matters needn't ever get that far. We just want to be left alone. To live our lives.

"So here's what you're going to tell him.

"First of all, he doesn't need to worry about the Intersect resurfacing. Ellie has found a way to safely and permanently remove it from Chuck's mind. As soon as the Director agrees to our terms, the procedure will take place."

"Secondly, I have no desire to dredge up my past actions, to expose what the CIA wants to keep hidden. I'll do so _only_ if he gives me no choice. To show my good faith, I'm going to send the files of Graham's other enforcers back with you.

"I'll keep mine, however. As insurance that he'll keep his word. I won't bother you with all the details of how we'll keep it secure or how it will be released if any further attempts are made to take us out. I'm sure the Director can figure that out on his own.

"Whether or not he agrees to our terms, I'm done. He'll have my resignation effective immediately. He can keep my pension. Instead, I'll take the cover business that was created for me here.

"I'll make a go of it, or not, without any further assistance from the CIA.

"As for Chuck, I'll expect that his record at Stanford will be cleared. That he'll be granted his degree. And that he'll be paid—handsomely—for his efforts over the last two years. He has so many great ideas. After he leaves the Buy More, he'll have the time, energy and resources to develop them. I've got enough money put aside to support us in the meantime."

Forrest sarcastically responds, "Is that all? Or do you also want the thanks of a grateful nation published in all the papers? Perhaps an elevation to sainthood?"

"I would suggest you refrain from using that tone. You're only alive because I need you to go back to DC to present our terms to the Director. That, and I owed you. But my debt is now fully paid.

"Twice you've gone down this road. And twice you've been granted your life. Do not anticipate the same result if there's a third time."

Sarah pauses, leans forward again, radiating intensity. "Let me make this very clear. If you _ever_ darken my door again, hell, if I find you within fifty miles of my husband, my family, I will put you down. No excuses. No questions asked.

"Do you understand?"

Sarah sees the woman briefly shudder.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Sarah puts her hand to her ear, listens. "Roger that, Casey.

"Casey and Carina have secured your van. They're on their way back here.

"When they arrive, all of you will be loaded into the van, which will then be dropped off in front of the CIA's LA office. The files will be sent along, as will our demands in writing, just in case you have a sudden memory loss. Oh, the video of your team's actions tonight and our interview will also be included.

"Tell the Director we expect an answer within 24 hours. Any questions?"

Forest shakes her head.

"In that case, goodbye, Alex. You'd better hope and pray we never meet again under these circumstances."

She reaches behind her back and pulls out a tranq pistol.

"One more thing before you take your nap. If someone like myself can step off the merry-go-round, there's a good chance you could too. Give it some thought."

She raises the pistol. Squeezes the trigger.

"I'd say sweet dreams, but I doubt you're capable of them."

…

Sarah gets up from her chair. Shivers as she stands over the slumped body of Alex Forrest.

Raising her watch, she tersely says, "Casey. Forrest is ready for pickup."

The reply is immediate. "Roger that. Just parking their van right now. We'll be in a minute or two."

She hears Chuck coming down the stairs, doesn't turn as he comes up behind and wraps his arms tenderly around her.

He whispers into her ear. "You OK?"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure."

"Why?"

She turns within his embrace to face him. Looks up into his eyes. "Did I sell it, Chuck? Enough to make her believe I'd do everything I said I would?"

He smiles gently for a few seconds before confidently replying, "Absolutely. When you put your mind to it, there's this look that comes across your face, a body language that conveys the idea of an unstoppable force just waiting to be unleashed. No one can walk away from that without being convinced you mean what you say."

"I was a little terrified just watching on the monitor."

"But I'm not certain if that was me or Agent Walker—the damn Ice Queen—talking."

"Doesn't make any difference."

"What?"

"When it comes to protecting me—us—you're completely focused. Utterly fierce. That came across well. Exceptionally well."

"But I'm not certain I would—could—do all that I told her I would. Not anymore."

"You know that, and I know that, but Forrest doesn't. Perception is everything, as they say. And what she _perceived_ was _her_ , the Ice Queen, that nightmarish embodiment of terror and calculated violence. In the end, all that counts is that she _believed_ you'd do exactly as you said."

Sarah nods, uncertainly. She's about to raise another objection when they hear the sounds of Casey and Carina coming through the back door.

"There was no need to tranq the guy twice, Casey. He wasn't any danger, just some tech geek who doesn't know one end of a Glock from the other."

"What do you think we should've done, Miller? Wait until you charmed him into ignoring protocol? Did you think your smile would be enough to stop him from sending out the message that the Op was blown?"

"It's worked before."

Casey growls just as they enter the living room. He sees Chuck and Sarah standing with their arms around each other.

Giving them a disgusted look, he barks out, "If you two can put aside your lady-feelings for a few minutes, we could use some help moving our visitors into the van."

Chuck steps back, releases Sarah. "Sure, Casey. I'll help you get the two from the back."

He looks between Sarah and Carina. "You two can manage Forrest?"

Carina jauntily replies, "Don't worry about us, Chuck. Sarah and I have had plenty of experience moving bodies around."

Sarah can see he's not quite sure how to respond to that.

"I guess we'll leave her to you then."

He follows Casey out of the room.

Carina walks to the couch, shakes her head as she gives the unconscious Forrest the once-over.

"Hard to look tough when you're drooling all over the pillow, isn't it?"

Carina turns to Sarah. "She give you any trouble?"

"No, not really. We had our little chat. Told her what we expected and the consequences of our demands not being met."

"Think they'll go for it?"

"I think so."

"Good." Carina glances at Forrest again. "Let's get moving. You want the head or the feet?"

"I think I'd better take the feet. I'm afraid I might not be able to resist the urge to let her head bounce off the floor a few times. I wouldn't normally care, but I need her mind clear for the discussion she's going to have with my ex-boss."

"Pity." Carina moves to the couch. "Let's get this done. It's been a long night and I'm tired."

"You can say that again."

…

He joins her on the couch as they hear the van drive away, followed by Carina's car.

"I've reset the perimeter alarms, Sarah."

Unconsciously, she nibbles on her lower lip. Nods distractedly.

"Something's bothering you."

She hesitates, then quietly replies, "What if they _don't_ buy it? If they do decide to risk it?"

"Not gonna happen. If we were to go public, we have enough evidence to seriously damage the CIA's reputation as well as sink the current Director, and he knows that. Remember, he was Graham's Deputy Director of Operations. He's not exactly a boy scout. He knew about and signed off on most of what Graham was doing. His 'fingerprints' were all over the files that Shaw took."

He grins. "Besides, Casey's gonna let Beckman know what's been going on behind her back, now that we have the proof. I suspect that'll curtail any retaliation he may have considered."

Buoyed by his confidence, she nods firmly. "You're right."

His eyes study her face. "There's something else, isn't there?"

This time, her nod is barely perceptible. She lowers her eyes, fixes them on his chest.

"You wanna tell me what it is?"

"I feel…empty…at loose ends.

"Afraid."

"You? Afraid? Not possible." She can hear the smile in his voice.

"Chuck, for almost my entire life, I've let others decide what direction my life would take. There was always someone telling me what to do next. My father, then Graham.

"Now that I've burned my bridges, it's up to me to make those decisions. And there won't be anyone but myself to blame if I make poor choices.

"It's a little…terrifying."

She feels him tense up. She looks up, sees the disquiet in his eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, then asks, quietly, tentatively, "Sarah, are you afraid that we…rushed things?"

She reaches up, takes his head in her hands. Her voice is firm. "Chuck Bartowski, listen to me. Marrying you is the one decision I have absolutely no doubts about. Got that?"

His relief is palpable. "Got it."

She rests her hands on his shoulders. "It's the other things that scare me. What if I can't make a go of it on my own? If I'm no good at a regular job? A regular life?"

She drops her eyes once more. Her voice is small. "I love you and want to be with you, always. That's why I married you.

"But what if I'm no good at being a wife?"

He takes her chin and gently tilts her face up. "Hey! Where is this coming from?"

"Forrest said something that made me think."

"Let me guess. That load of crap about this being nothing but a fantasy. That sooner or later, the Ice Queen would reappear?"

"Yes. I know we've talked about this before and I'm sorry to bring it up again. But there's this little voice I'm having trouble getting rid of. It keeps telling me that she might be right.

"I know I'm being foolish."

"Nothing to be sorry for. That kind of stuff doesn't just go away overnight.

"But she's wrong. I'm certain of that."

"Why?"

"Well, first of all, I'm sure you would agree that Alexandra Forrest is a rotten judge of character." He smirks. "A fact clearly proven by her misjudgment of me, your awesome, incredible husband. The most wonderful man in the entire known universe."

She can't help but smile in return. "That's very true. You are."

He briefly chuckles. "Secondly, she had it the wrong way around. This you, the woman in my arms right now, _is_ the reversion. The others, Agent Walker, the Ice Queen, whatever, were nothing more than…fictions. Personas you put on and removed like clothing as the situation required.

"So how could you possibly revert to someone who doesn't exist?"

"You believe that?"

He leans in, kisses her briefly. "With all my heart.

"I'm not expecting any surprises. The only woman I'm going to be sharing my life with is the one right here." He places his hand gently over her heart. "The woman who's always been there, just waiting for the chance to be set free."

She blinks up at him, her vision blurred by sudden tears.

Despite the impediment, she manages to find his lips with hers. She pulls him closer, pours all of her love and gratitude into her kiss. His response is, at first, gentle, but then increasingly fervent.

A few minutes later, she finds herself lying under him, panting, heart pounding.

She looks up, whispers, "Husband, please take me to our bed."

"Certainly, wife. To sleep?"

"Later, yes. But right now I need you to love me. Make me believe that I am that woman. The woman I see in your eyes when you look at me.

"Will you do that for me, Chuck? Not just tonight, but every night until the others are no longer even a memory?"

"I will, Sarah.

"Always."

 **TBC**

—

A/N: As you noticed, a brief change in POV for the only time in this story.

Appreciate your thoughts.


	16. Epilogue

_A/N: Here we are. Finally. The end. When I started, I had no idea it would go on for this long. I've thoroughly enjoyed writing Second Chances, but every story must have, at some point, a conclusion._

 _Thank you for following along for so patiently. As one guest reviewer put it (quite correctly) the delivery of this story has been glacially slow. Ironic in some ways, considering how quickly the plot moved along._

 _And thank you all for making this my most reviewed, most favorited, most followed tale._

 _I'll use this opportunity to thank michealfmx, my beta. Without his patience and support over the past few years, I wouldn't be the writer I am today. (Such as I am.)_

 _And many thanks to Zettel and Grayroc, not only for their suggestions on improving this tale,_ _but also how their writings (and that of so many others on this site) have inspired me to add to the lives of the characters we love so much._

 _I don't own Chuck et al._

 _Enjoy!_

—

 **Second Chances: Epilogue**

 **One year later.**

Sarah feels his eyes upon her, certain he's just entered the room although she'd neither seen nor heard him do so.

She doesn't turn, just keeps her eyes fixed on the group of teenage girls in her fourth and last self-defense class of the day.

A part of Sarah's business that had gotten off to a frustratingly slow start.

Until the incident, that is.

…

Late one night, after they'd left a club where Chuck had taken her to dance, they'd been suddenly confronted by two thugs, one with a gun, the other with a knife.

Sarah had previously told Chuck that the show of weapons on the criminal's part was designed to intimidate their victims into immediate submission. In effect, to paralyze their will to resist. She added that the first few seconds were the critical ones. Acting immediately, with zero hesitation would catch them off guard.

The man with the gun had, somewhat nervously, pointed it at Chuck, mistakenly believing he was the greater threat.

A serious mistake on his part.

In a blur of motion, almost too fast for the eye to follow, Sarah had grabbed his wrist, twisting it so the automatic pistol was pointing harmlessly straight up. The man's howl of pain was abruptly cut off as she grabbed the gun from him and soundly clonked him on the side of his head with it. The man fell face first, unconscious before he hit the ground.

She'd tossed the gun over to Chuck before she'd turned to face the other man. He, stupefied by the sudden loss of control and unexpected escalation, hadn't made a move, had just stood there with the wicked-looking blade in his hand. When he saw his partner collapse, he finally brought himself to lunge toward Sarah, his knife held out far in front of him.

Chuck had later told Sarah that, compared to her, it was as if the man was moving in slow motion.

She dodged his clumsy charge with ease, slashing down on his wrist with the side of her hand. The knife clattered to the ground as the man stumbled past. He turned to look at her, with fear in his eyes, then decided to run.

But his wise decision (the only one he'd made that night) had come much too late. And he was much too slow. He hadn't taken more than two steps when she caught up with him.

Grabbing his arm, she'd spun the man around, turned her back on him and, much to Chuck's amazement, flipped the man over her shoulder onto the hard pavement. The breath had whooshed from his body.

She'd leaned in and looking in the gasping man's eyes, had told him no uncertain terms that he and his partner should pursue a more honest type of employment. Forthwith.

Otherwise, she'd come back and show them how knives and guns are supposed to be used.

He'd managed a terrified nod, before she'd tapped him, hard, behind the ear with the butt end of his knife, which she'd picked up from the ground, rendering him unconscious.

She'd then retrieved the pistol from Chuck and, after having quickly disassembled it, scattered the pieces on the ground, keeping only the magazine which she'd slipped into her purse. The knife she'd propped up on the curb and, with a swift blow from her heeled boot, snapped the blade clean off.

There'd only been a few spectators this late at night, none closer than fifty feet or so. And neither Chuck nor Sarah had noticed any of them videoing the encounter. But at least one of them had called the police, for they could hear the sirens.

She'd grabbed Chuck's hand, telling him, as she tugged him along, that it would be best if they weren't around when the police arrived.

When he'd asked later why she hadn't used the gun for its intended purpose (much to his relief), she'd replied that the two crooks were rank amateurs, dangerous only in their ineptitude. She added that the idiot with the pistol hadn't even realized he had the safety on. And the other man had held his knife all wrong.

But then she'd firmly stated that, regardless, no one threatens her husband without paying a price.

It turned out that both men had a string of outstanding warrants. As well as parole violations.

Thus their chances of meeting Sarah again were slim to none, which, for their continued well-being, was just as well.

The next day a blurred, grainy video of the incident made its way onto YouTube. A film student, a devotee of the cinéma vérité school, had been looking for material and happened to catch the incident from a darkened alley across the street. The video went viral almost immediately.

Chuck had found it and shown it to her early the next morning. It was titled the Blonde Ninja. Fortunately, the quality was such that neither of them was readily identifiable. It was more of a blur of motion than anything else. Still, it aptly demonstrated Sarah's skills.

They would've likely thought nothing more of the incident had not a petite, young woman by the name of Alex McHugh walked into Sarah's business the next day. She was looking for work, having taught fitness classes for a previous employer.

Sarah had liked the young women immediately, despite the unpleasant connotations of her first name. Unfortunately, the business was just getting on its feet and couldn't support another employee yet.

Alex had thanked her graciously and risen to leave but had paused and turned back to face Sarah, looking puzzled. She asked if they'd met before.

Sarah had been about to say no when the young woman had snapped her fingers and asked if Sarah was the Blonde Ninja. It turned out that Alex had been one of the distant spectators that night. And she'd seen the video as well.

Sarah had been tempted to deny it was her, but didn't want to lie to Alex. She did, however, ask her to keep it quiet.

The young woman had readily agreed, making it clear she never had any intention of spreading the information. She did, though, have a proposition to make.

She'd told Sarah that the reason she was looking for work was that her former employer had been forced to close the business due to health issues. That and the building being razed for new condos. In an act of kindness, considering she could've sold it, she'd given Alex her entire client list. And on that list were a large group of women, of all age brackets, who were not only now looking for a new fitness center, but who'd also asked Alex's boss to add in self-defense classes.

Sarah was clearly capable of teaching such, so Alex floated the idea that they work together to build up Sarah's business.

The idea had been a good one and Sarah had eventually agreed. Alex would focus on the fitness side and Sarah on the self-defense side.

But only after Sarah insisted that, if matters went well, that Alex would become a partner, not an employee. She had, at first, resisted, but Sarah wasn't about to take no for an answer.

Things had quickly taken off after that, word of mouth rapidly bringing in more and more clients. To the point where there were waiting lists for both the fitness and self-defense classes.

That there were to be further consequences for bringing Alex McHugh on board became evident only later.

…

Right from the start of her very first class, Sarah had surprised herself at the fervor with which she taught. She came to realize that this was, in part, because she now had the chance to use her skills for a fine, honorable purpose.

To protect _from_ harm, not to _cause_ harm.

But she also felt a measure of personal responsibility. If one of her students was seriously injured...or worse...because Sarah hadn't done her job well enough, it would only add, in her mind, to the body count she was directly responsible for. The last thing she wanted was that extra burden in her life.

So she threw herself into her teaching, giving her students all that she could.

But she has to admit that _this_ class has a special place in her heart

When she'd found out that there was to be a Samantha in this group, she'd been, at first, a little unsettled. And when she'd met her for the first, that disquiet had only grown.

The sixteen-year-old was tall, blonde, her natural beauty obscured by braces, topped off by poor clothing and hair choices.

It was as if Sarah was seeing her younger self in a mirror.

However, Sarah had quickly gotten used to it. Had, over the past few weeks, become very fond of all the girls arranged, at this moment, in a semi-circle around her.

But, if truth be told, she was a little fonder of her namesake.

She was eager to teach and they were all eager to learn. And none seemed to mind that Sarah gave just a little extra attention to Sam.

…

"Samantha, you have a question?"

"Miss Sarah, (Sarah was unsure how that form of address had started, but had chosen to let it slide) you told us that next week we'll learn what to do if a man puts us in a chokehold from behind. Since we're running a little early, could you tell us more right now?"

"I believe we can do better than that." Without turning, Sarah calls out, "Mr. Bartowski, since you've arrived early, would you mind joining us for a little demonstration?"

He walks further into the room looking a little sheepish, stands by her side.

"Girls, say hello to my husband, Chuck."

In a sing-song voice, they all chime in, "Hello, Mr. Chuck."

Sarah notices Samantha putting a little extra into her greeting. The girl looks a little starry-eyed, probably the beginnings of a little crush.

And why not? Chuck looks especially handsome in his black slacks and a button-down red shirt, topped off by the new black leather jacket she'd just bought him.

Sarah feels something stir inside. Something pleasant. Something…urgent.

 _Later_.

He replies, a little embarrassed, "Hi, girls. I'm here to pick up your teacher. It's our first anniversary today. We're going out to celebrate."

There's a round of bubbly congratulations from the students.

"Chuck, the girls would like to be shown what to do if someone grabs them from behind. So I need you to be the bad guy here. Come up from behind me and wrap your arm around my neck, please."

He leans closer and whispers, "You sure that's a good idea? You know what happens when…"

Pleased by this reminder that his physical response to her has diminished not a whit in the year they've been together, she smiles, whispers back, "It'll be fine. You'll only have your arms around me for a second or two before I demonstrate how to escape. OK?"

He doesn't sound convinced, but acquiesces. "Alright. Just promise you won't squirm around too much."

"I promise."

Sarah turns to face her students, who've been hiding their giggles behind their hands as they'd watched the two of them interact.

In mock seriousness, she admonishes the group. "Settle down. And watch carefully. I'm only going through this once today. Next week we'll explore this and a few other methods in greater depth."

Another sing-song, group response. "Yes, Miss Sarah."

She turns on her back on her husband, says, over her shoulder, "OK, Chuck. Grab me."

He hesitates a second, then moves in and wraps his right arm around her neck, using his left hand to pull it tighter, but not overly so.

"The first thing you have to do when you feel his arm is bring your chin down so the attacker can't put pressure on your throat."

She does just that.

"Then you reach up and grab his arms with both of your hands. Pull down and step off to the right. This will throw your assailant off balance."

She demonstrates as the girls watch carefully.

"Then use your left hand to strike the attacker in the groin with all you might. Repeatedly, if necessary." She moves her fist quickly, stopping just short of actually striking Chuck.

Nonetheless, he flinches, exaggeratedly. The girls giggle.

"After you've hit him, his head will come down and you can use your left elbow to hit him in the face, as hard as you can."

She lifts her arm, pretends to strike him in the face. He plays along by snapping his head back as if he'd actually been hit.

The girls laugh again.

"Once you have done all this, his grip will have slackened and you'll be free."

Sarah gives the girls a stern look. "And what do you do then?"

They answer by rote. "Run away as fast as we can. Scream for help. Find some people."

"And this will work, why?"

"Because we never, ever put ourselves in a potentially dangerous situation, especially when we're alone."

"Good. You've been listening." Sarah smiles. "See you next week."

"Thanks, Miss Sarah."

"Bye!"

The girls rapidly file out, but Samantha hangs back.

Sarah had been especially pleased with her progress. Initially very shy, she'd gained confidence very quickly under Sarah's tutelage, and was now one of her best students. As a bonus, her self-confidence had helped to bring her out of her shell. It didn't hurt that the braces had also recently disappeared.

"Yes, Sam?"

She glances at Chuck. "Could we speak in private?"

He speaks up. "I'll go over there." He points to the opposite side of the room. "I've got some calls I need to make." He takes his phone from his pocket as he walks away.

"Miss Sarah, I just wanted to thank you personally for all you've taught me. Two days ago one of my friends was being accosted by a couple of the boys in the school parking lot. One of them had just grabbed her arm when I came up behind him and put him into the armlock you showed us a few weeks ago. I…persuaded…him and his friend to leave us alone. I think they're a bit afraid of me now."

"Will you get in trouble for that?"

"No, one of the teachers and seen what was happening and had been about to step in when I arrived on the scene. The two boys were suspended for a couple of days. And a few other girls asked where I learned stuff like that. I told them. You'll probably get some calls."

"Thank you, Sam. And I'm glad I was able to help."

When the girl doesn't make to leave, Sarah asks, "Was there something else?"

"Miss Sarah, could I ask you a question? I wouldn't normally do this, but it's not the kind of question I feel I can ask my dad."

Sarah had known for some time that Sam's mother was out of the picture. She didn't know exactly why and had tried not to pry. However, it was yet another thing she could empathize with.

"Yes?"

Sam hesitates before finally saying, "There's a boy I like, but until I did what I just told you about, he'd never noticed me. But today he made it clear that he would like to get to know me."

Sarah smiles. "Let me guess. The captain of the football team."

Sam shakes her head. "No, he's a bit of a nerd. Smart. Tall, a little clumsy, but really cute."

"So the question is..."

"How do I know if he really likes me? That he isn't just attracted to me for being some sort of badass, at least in his estimation?"

Sarah ponders that a few moments. "That's not an easy one to answer, but if I had to say something it would be this. Will he care for the you that you are? Not for whom he wants or thinks you to be?"

"How's he supposed to find that out?"

"If he talks to you, really talks. But even more importantly, if he really listens. If he shows that he wants to know you, not some image you may have projected."

Sam nods. "I think I see what you mean. But if he does want to know me, why did he ignore me until now?"

"Sam, have you considered that maybe he was too shy to come forward before? But that now you've impressed him to point that he finally realizes he'd better make some sort of move before someone else comes along?"

"Me, impressive?" She blushes.

"Absolutely. Think of the courage it took for him to approach someone like you."

"You could be right."

She leans in. "Could I let you in on a little secret? My husband is a nerd himself."

Sam stares at Chuck incredulously. "You're kidding. Right?"

"Nope. He's the best man I've ever known. Sad to say, it's ones like him that often get overlooked. Especially in school."

Sarah glances Chuck's way, smiles. He smiles back. "I knew a lot about him before we ever met, but I'd formed a negative opinion at one point. If I hadn't given him a fair chance, we might've never gotten together.

"Which would've been tragic."

"So you saying I should give this boy a chance? See if he cares about _me_?"

"It's your choice, but you might want to seriously consider it."

Sam ponders that for a few moments.

"Miss Sarah, could I ask you one more thing?"

"Of course."

"How long was it after you met him when you knew Mr. Chuck was the one?"

Sarah grins. "Let me see. Looking back, I'd guess it was about five minutes or so."

"What?!"

"Yeah, it surprised me too."

Sarah gently counsels the teen. "But our circumstances were a little out of the ordinary. And we were quite a bit older than you are now. So don't go thinking the same's gonna happen to you."

"OK, I got it."

Sam throws herself into Sarah's arms, hugs her. "Thank you, Miss Sarah. For everything. I'll go now so you two can have your celebration." As she leaves, she waves at Chuck. He returns the wave a little awkwardly.

Walking across the room across, he puts his arm puts around Sarah's shoulders.

"So, that's the girl you talk so much about."

"Yes."

"You were like her at that age?"

"Yes."

Shaking his head, he remarks, smiling, "I still find that hard to believe, but I'll take your word for it."

He pauses before asking, "Can you tell me what you two talked about?"

Sarah shakes her head. 'I'm sorry. It's a teacher-student confidentiality thing. But I will say this much. I advised her that, based on my experience, nerds should be given a chance. You never know where things may end up."

"And just did how did that work out for you?"

"Much better than I could've ever anticipated."

"I'm happy to hear that." He pulls her into a hug, quickly kisses her.

"Chuck, I'm all hot and sweaty."

"And, how exactly, does that make you less attractive?"

"You goof!" She pushes him gently away. "Let's head home. I'll need to shower and change. Then we can head off to Lou's Place."

He asks, hopefully, "Will you need any help showering? Maybe to help clean those hard to reach places?"

"I have no trouble reaching those places, thank you." She goes up on her tiptoes, gives him a quick kiss on the lips. "But I just might need some help later. You know, a long day at work often stiffens up the muscles."

"I'll be available. Just say the word."

"I'll hold you to that."

After setting the alarms and turning off the lights, they leave, locking the door behind them

"Oh, I forgot to mention that Alex is picking up her dad from the airport. They'll meet us at Lou's."

"That's good. It'll be great to see Casey again."

…

And that, of course, was the other unexpected consequence of having Alex McHugh enter their lives.

Shortly after Alex had come to work with Sarah, Casey had returned from an assignment overseas. He decided to visit his friends in California, so he'd booked off a week of the many weeks of vacation time he'd accumulated over the years.

Casey had left not too long after the CIA Director had grudgingly agreed to the terms that Alexandra Forrest had delivered to him. That General Beckman had torn a very large strip off of him for going after Sarah and Chuck (members of a joint operation, after all), had been an additional motivation to sort matters out quickly.

After guarantees were given in writing, backed up by the General's promise to keep an eye on matters, Sarah's promise had been kept as well.

The Intersect was removed, permanently, from the brain of one Charles Irving Bartowski.

Casey had been disappointed to see his hopes of a restored Intersect team dashed. But after Ellie had determined that the Intersect would've eventually damaged Chuck's mind, quite seriously, he'd accepted that it was for the best.

But with no Intersect, there was no reason for Casey to stick around. Castle was, by this time, fully dismantled and shut down, so Beckman recalled him back to DC.

Ellie had thrown a small going-away party for him. Everyone had chipped in to present him with a Desert Eagle Mark XIX as a gift. He'd been visibly moved by the thoughtfulness, but Sarah had thought he'd been even more affected by the framed picture of the whole Burbank crew that Ellie had given him.

Carina had printed up an all-access pass to Magnificent Millerland, which she'd given him with a promise that there would be some new rides if he chose to visit in the future. Casey had given her a long look, then nodded, before carefully folding the document and placing it in an inner jacket pocket.

At the end of the evening, everyone had, in turn, (over his protests) hugged him. The longest and the tightest one had come from Chuck.

Both men had quickly turned away after its conclusion, doing their best to hold back the tears everyone pretended that they didn't notice.

When he'd returned for his visit some three months later, he'd dropped in unannounced at Sarah's workplace, curious to see how things had turned out. He'd walked into the middle of one of the fitness sessions and been surprised at seeing a petite brunette conducting the class instead of the tall blonde he'd expected.

Something about the young woman and struck a chord with Casey. Sarah had introduced Alex to him and over the next few days he'd discovered that she was the daughter he'd never known he had.

He'd told Chuck and Sarah the story, how he'd left his fiancée in order to be accepted into NSA Black Ops. How, to qualify, Alex Coburn (his real name) had to "die" so that John Casey might be born.

Both had urged him to reveal himself to Alex. On what should've been the last day of his visit, he'd done so, his imminent departure serving as his avenue of retreat in case things went badly.

Initially, there'd been disbelief followed by understandable bitterness on Alex's part. But they'd worked through it. Casey had postponed his departure for another week and the two of them had spent much of their free time together, getting acquainted.

By the end of that week, Casey had made his decision. He'd confided in Sarah that he wasn't about to miss the second chance he'd been given to know his child. In nine months he'd be able to take his twenty and retire to California ("that liberal hippie hellhole") to be near Alex.

(That a certain redheaded DEA agent had chosen, after her latest brush with death and a long conversation with Sarah, to accept an administrative position based in San Diego, had also played a part in his decision.)

He'd made the flight as often as he could in the meantime, increasingly reluctant to return to DC.

There'd only been one fly in his ointment. The growing mutual attraction between his daughter and Morgan Grimes. But she'd put him firmly in his place when he'd stated his displeasure. In this, she could be just as intransigent as her father. He'd accepted his dressing down and made an effort to accept Morgan's role in his daughter's life. A teeth-grinding, growling, grudging effort, but an effort nonetheless.

Casey had called yesterday to confirm he was able to make the anniversary celebration. And that he'd booked a one-way flight.

Almost as an afterthought, he'd added that the CIA Director's latest high-risk mission (something he'd become notorious for) was rumored to have gone off the rails, spectacularly, in Kazakhstan. It was expected that the President would be asking for the man's resignation as early as tomorrow.

He'd paused before adding that Agent Alexandra Forrest, who'd been leading that ill-fated mission, was missing and presumed dead.

…

Thirty minutes later, Sarah, wearing the little black dress she'd bought for the occasion, applies the final touches to her make up.

She'd studiously avoided looking at the small, white, sticklike object sitting on the edge of the sink while she'd applied the finishing touches.

But now she's run out of excuses.

She picks it up, takes note of the symbol with mixed feelings, joy and apprehension, in pretty much equal parts. After wrapping it in a tissue, she slips it into her purse

He's on his phone when she enters the living room. He disconnects, looking at the screen disbelievingly for a few seconds.

But then he senses she's near. He lifts his head, a huge smile on his face. "Sarah, I just got some big news…"

His voice trails off when he sees her, or more accurately, gawks at her. His phone tumbles from his hand, fortunately landing on the area rug rather than the hardwood floor.

She walks closer, putting a little extra sway into her hips. Gently, she takes her hand and pushes up his jaw, caressing his cheek as she does so.

He gives himself a little shake. "Mrs. Bartowski, you…that dress…you…look amazing."

"What? This little thing?" She twirls.

He's mesmerized. Finally, he manages a nod as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her soundly.

"You said you had some big news?"

He's confused. "What?" He pauses, thinking. "Oh, the Japanese company I was dealing with called and said they're very interested in the game. I pretty sure they'll go for it." He beams.

…

A month or so after Chuck had left the Buy More, he'd told her the premise of his game. Sarah had been a little dubious, but had supported him, nonetheless.

A blonde, female spy and her curly-haired male partner traveling around the world going on G-Rated missions and solving puzzles hadn't sounded like something that would fly. He'd said her life had, in many ways, inspired him.

She hadn't been sure just how he was going to use that inspiration to produce a fun and educational game for kids. After all, the majority of Sarah's life as a spy would definitely be rated as NC-17. Unsuitable for children, or most adults for that matter.

She'd gently reminded him of that, but he wasn't deterred.

When, a month ago, he'd shown her the more or less finished product, she'd been utterly charmed. The animated, cartoon-like characters, although not looking too much like Chuck and Sarah, had captured the essence of both exceptionally well. Their mannerisms, the way each of the characters moved, their speech patterns, were all very recognizable.

And the missions and puzzles had turned out to be very engaging, clever and funny. Partly due to Morgan's contributions. His childlike approach to life had served them well in this case.

…

"Congratulations, sweetie! I knew you could do it!"

"Sarah, I couldn't have done it without you. If you hadn't come into my life, I'd probably still be working at the Buy More."

"Nonsense! You're brilliant. You would've found your way without me."

"Not a chance." Grinning, he quietly sings, _"Baby, you're my soul and my heart's inspiration_."

It's a little game they've played for the last year or so. He sings a line with his lovely voice, and she tries to remember the song title and who sang it, all based on the music he's exposed her to since their marriage. Her excellent memory has stood her in good stead.

"Come on, you gotta make it a little harder than that. The titles right there. The Righteous Brothers. 1966."

"Correct! Give the lady a prize!"

"And what prize might that be?"

"Me, of course."

"Damn! I was hoping for a stuffed Panda or something!"

He takes her in his arms, laughing. Gives her a smacking kiss.

Glancing at his watch, he says, "We better get going. Either Casey or Ellie will haul us up on the carpet if we're late."

"OK." The smile falls from her face.

 _I can't put this off any longer._

"Chuck, before we leave, there's something I have to tell you."

He picks up on her serious vibe, quickly asks, "What is it?"

"Sometime in the spring, we're gonna need to hire a new instructor to take over the fitness classes."

He's alarmed. "Why? Is Alex planning to leave us? Is she alright?"

"No, nothing like that. After I train her, she'll be taking over the self-defense classes."

Puzzled, he asks, "Why would she need to do that?"

Sarah takes a deep breath. "Because I'll be on maternity leave."

She watches the wheels turning.

He sounds almost afraid to ask. He whispers, "We're having a baby?"

She nods, trembling, just a little.

"When…when did you find out?"

"Just now. I missed my period a few days ago and thought I should check. I bought one of those tests."

He nods, looking a little dazed.

Anxiety tightens her throat. "Are you OK with that? I know we hadn't planned it—"

He kisses her, sudden tears at the corners of his eyes. "OK with that? God, Sarah, how could I _not_ be OK with that? The most incredible woman in the whole, wide world, my wife, is having our baby!"

At the look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face, her apprehensions start to fade away.

He kisses her tenderly, still smiling.

He pulls back excitedly goes on, "Sarah, we're gonna be parents. This baby is gonna be so loved. I promise that I'll do my best to be a great father. But you…you'll be even a better mother."

She tries, but fails, to keep her self-doubts from her voice even as she returns his smile.

"You're sure of that?"

He pulls her closer. "Sarah, I don't have even the slightest doubt."

She looks up into his eyes. "But how, Chuck? How can you be so certain?"

"Because you're you, Sarah. That's why.

"Right from the start, you were willing to put my safety above that of your own. You openly defied those who, at one time, had dictated your every move. You threw your old life away. So we could be together.

"All this for a man you'd only known for a few days.

"Since then, you've stood by my side. Picked me up when I failed. Forgave me when I was an idiot. You've wept with me. You've laughed with me.

"And when I needed you, _really_ needed you, you were always there. Every. Single. Time.

"You were willing to die for me." He pauses. "But the even greater gift is that you were willing to live for me, for us."

She blushes. "Chuck, stop. You're making it sound like it was all one-sided. It wasn't just me. You've done all that, and more, for me too."

He gently kisses her forehead. "Thank you for saying that. But the point I'm trying to make is this.

"You've shown me again and again and again just how much you love me. It would be utterly inconceivable that you could possibly love our child any less.

"And you, Sarah Bartowski, are simply incapable of failure when it comes to the care of those you love."

"But what if I'm not any good around children."

He laughs. "Baby, that's one thing you don't have to worry about."

She looks up at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You. With Samantha. You should've seen yourself. I don't know what you said, but it was like you were some sort of…kid whisperer. It was easy to see that she respects and adores you. And it's not just her. You're great with all the kids.

"Now, before you say anything, I'm not saying that a teenager is the same as a baby. But what I witnessed with Sam tells me you're gonna be just fine. Better than fine. Fantastic."

She shakes her head in wonder.

Softly, she asks, "Chuck, sweetie, how do you do that? Every single time I doubt myself?"

"What?"

"Give me strength and courage. Confidence."

"All I do is remind you of how marvelous you really are."

She goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Thank you. And I love you, too."

He raises an eyebrow, chides her gently. "Hold on there, missy. While I appreciate the kiss, I believe you're being a little presumptuous. I didn't say I loved you."

She grins. "Yes, you did." She kisses him again.

"Well, I'm still not convinced. But I'm willing to let you keep on trying to change my mind."

"Challenge accepted."

Another kiss, this one much longer, breathtakingly so.

"OK, I'm beginning to think you may have something there. Perhaps we can continue this discussion later this evening?"

"Sounds good to me."

He's suddenly serious. "Sarah, I know this whole parenting thing is a little scary, but please remember. You won't be doing this on your own."

"I know it still isn't completely safe for your mom and Molly to be here, but there's a woman living across the courtyard who's gonna by your side every step of the way. Given that she's a doctor and has a head-start on the expecting thing will be super valuable. She's gonna be ecstatic that her best friend will be having a baby at pretty much the same time."

She raises an eyebrow. "Ya think?"

He chuckles. "I guess that was pretty obvious, wasn't it?"

As Chuck had predicted, her friendship with Ellie had continued to grow to the point where Sarah wondered how she'd ever gotten along without it. Aside from Chuck, there's no one she spends more time with. Or is happier to be around.

"As for me, I'm gonna read every book, go with you to every class, watch every video," he pauses, appears momentarily nauseous, "even the birthing ones, just so I can be there for you. Every minute of every day. Whenever you need me."

She blinks back her tears. "Kiss me, Chuck."

He leans closer, his embrace a little tentative, almost as if he's afraid he'll hurt her.

 _I'll need to show him he doesn't have to worry about that._

 _Later._

At the touch of his lips on hers, all her vestigial misgivings are chased from her heart.

 _I can do this._

 _We can do this._

After a few minutes pass, he pulls back, chuckling gently.

"What?"

"I just thought of something. Whomever our child brings home to meet the parents is not gonna have any idea of what's about to hit them. I can just imagine how they're going to react when you decide to interrogate them."

He smirks. "When that day comes, I'm gonna need you to promise that there won't be any truth serum involved. Or knives."

And just like that, the vision of _this_ future, _their_ future, hits Sarah so powerfully that it takes her breath away.

A little over a year ago, her life was a hollow shell. She was just going through the motions, resigning herself to a future seemingly devoid of hope. Purpose. Love.

To find herself here, in the arms of the man she loves more than life itself, almost seems like a…dream.

A silent thanks bubbles up from her heart, directed to that most unlikely of persons.

Alexandra Forrest.

 _If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have ever known what it was like to have someone love me with his whole heart, his whole soul, his whole strength._

 _I wouldn't have a family and friends who hold me dear me despite all that I've done._

 _I wouldn't have a home._

 _I wouldn't be having a child to love and protect._

She pulls herself a little closer, rests her head on his chest. Hears the beat of his lovely, loving heart.

He tenderly kisses her hair.

 _Thank you, Alex, wherever you are._

 _You threw away your chance._

 _And gave me mine._

 _My second chance._

 **THE END.**

—

 _A/N: This will be my last novel-length tale, at least for the foreseeable future._

 _I do have some ideas for a series of one-shots. And I'll add to the Plan universe. Maybe even add to this story. I'll have to see._

 _But that won't happen for some time._

 _I'm eager to hear how you feel about Second Chances now that we've reached the conclusion. If you've been sitting back, waiting for this to finish before reviewing, now's your chance._

 _A few thoughtful words are a small price to pay for all the heart and soul we writers pour into our work._

 _Again, thank you. So very much. From the bottom of my heart._

 _Au revoir,_

 _Wayne_


End file.
